


the middle path to happiness

by psylocke



Category: Avengers (Comics), Marvel, Marvel (Comics), The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Politics, Developing Relationship, M/M, Political Campaigns
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-03-05
Updated: 2014-01-02
Packaged: 2017-12-04 09:15:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 24,808
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/709085
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/psylocke/pseuds/psylocke
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Running in New York's 12th congressional district, Steve Rogers doesn't have much time, energy, or resources to spend on himself -- until he meets Tony Stark, a businessman who keeps his cards close to his chest. In spite of better judgement on both their behalves, they enter a secretive, volatile relationship, the core of which causes Steve to question his political ambition. But for all Tony's disinterest in politics, he holds a greater stake in the outcome of the election that Steve realizes, the full scope of which could destroy the foundation of their partnership.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This has been an idea running through my head for, wow, well over a year now. It's gone through so many different incarnations, different casts of characters, different levels of severity, and this was the first time the story seemed to click entirely. There is a bit of fumbling, early on, setting up the roles Tony and Steve play within this universe, but it all starts to fall into place, I promise! Hope you enjoy.

Anonymity is rarely a luxury afforded to those in the public eye. A trip to the grocery store for a celebrity became fodder for the paparazzi. A dinner at a fancy restaurant for a politician was a scandal waiting to happen. A celebrity politician, however, had it doubly hard. Ever since announcing his bid for congress last last year, Steve Rogers hadn’t been able to leave his Washington hotel room without running into _somebody_ , be it a journalist, a campaign supporter, or just a woman wanting to throw herself at him. Despite that, he’d found a way to dodge their advances. Sure, it took a bit of careful maneuvering, forging an alliance with a hotel clerk, and dressing as close as possible to a homeless man as a well-off ex-soldier, ex-lawyer could respectably manage, but he did it. 

Not only did he do it — he did it every day.

Say what you will about him and his policies, he was a supporter of local businesses. The coffee shop, _Sam’s_ , leased a few blocks away from the capitol building, was the epitome of a local establishment. Steve knew the owner’s name, he knew the names of most of the baristas, and he knew the farms they sourced their products from. It was the sort of place he was proud to visit. Problem was, nobody knew he ever went there.

For February, the weather was surprisingly mild. Warm enough, at least, for him to throw on a wool hat, a pair of sunglasses, a thin pullover, and a pair of sweats and not attract too many looks. His build was distinctive: tall, powerful, muscled, but it wasn’t entirely original. On a day like today, he could pass off as just about anybody who regularly went to the gym and enjoyed an early morning run. 

Even if he was a morning person, six a.m. always came too soon, and he forced himself out of bed, pulling back the curtains and letting the clouded daylight stream into his darkened hotel room. Scratching his bare chest, he groaned through his morning stretches. By the time he’d finished his daily requirement of one-hundred-fifty pushups, he’d fully woken up, almost ready to take on the day. 

Almost. 

All he needed now was his espresso from _Sam’s_. Prior to that, he’d do his daily run, but that was more of a challenge, a task he set for himself before giving himself the reward of caffeine. If he was going to take the risk of going into public unnoticed, he’d damn well better earn it. 

Moving to his closet, he pulled on a white undershirt, and above that a forest green fitted sweater. Over his briefs, he threw on a pair of sweatpants, fastening them tightly on his hips. He returned to his bed, finally lifting his phone from his nightstand, turning it on and waiting for it to finish loading. The ‘new voicemail’ button flashed, and Steve dialled into the answering machine, waiting for the robotic voice to put him through. It wasn’t often he had a message waiting for him when he woke up, since he was usually in bed after his campaign manager and awake several hours earlier, but stranger things had happened.

“Steve — yeah, uh, call me when you get this. Looks like they’ve put out another attack ad on you. This time it’s about your foreign affairs platform. Listen, it’s not too bad, but we need to get focused on an offensive. Forty-two days until election day. Stay strong. Peace.” The screen told him the message had been delivered just after one in the morning, which meant that Barnes would be asleep even later than usual, so he had a couple of hours before his day started.

News of a new ad wasn’t enough to stir him, though Steve certainly would have preferred not to have to worry about it. Right now all he wanted to worry about was getting his buzz going, maybe treat himself to a danish along with his coffee. Slipping his phone into the pocket of his sweater, he grabbed his earbuds and secured them in, turning on his tunes and heading out the door. Before stepping outside, he put on a pair of sunglasses and pulled up his hood, rather effectively concealing his identity from the average person. 

It would take him twenty minutes at his usual pace to make it to Sam’s, but he was feeling antsy, and managed to make the jog in just over fifteen. The line was long, like usual, but he didn’t mind waiting. The coffee was always more than worth it, and he’d definitely earned his breakfast sandwich. His eyes wandered around the shop, the closer and closer he got to the bar, trying to scope out somewhere to sit. Despite the fullness of the shop, it filled and emptied at the same ratio, leaving a fairly even number of seats available. He stepped up to the bar, offering the barista a charming smile. “The usual,” he said, pressing a finger to the side of his nose — the staff was discrete and professional, “and add a cheese danish, Joel. Thanks.” 

“Got it, dude,” the young man replied pleasantly, brushing the hair out of his hair as he tendered the cash, handing back Steve’s change. He lingered at the serving counter a few minutes, gladly accepting his warm drink alongside the heated pastry. Pulling both his earbuds out and sticking them in his pocket, he approached one of the vacant leather seats, softly cushioned and deeply sagging, falling back into it and stretching out, like sitting on a cloud.

Like always, Steve set up a small nest for himself in his chair. Reaching forward, he grabbed one of the daily papers, already separated and placed out of order. His drink was nestled between his legs, held in place by his thighs. The danish rested on his lap, and he sank further into the leather, practically laying down. He started fanning through the paper, trying to find the front page, using the opportunity to take a look at his surroundings. Most mornings, the place was cramped with businesspeople on their way to work, and most of the seats usurped by students getting in a quick nap before classes. Across from him today, though, a scruffy-looking man in a finely pressed suit, briefcase behind his legs, pressed against the base of his chair, was sipping an espresso and skimming through his phone.

He must have felt Steve looking at him, because he glanced up, they made eye contact, and the man smiled at him. Not a friendly smile, either, something more. Almost coy and knowing, strangely flirtatious, and it managed to fluster Steve. It screamed ‘I know you’. He dressed like this to avoid detection. He hadn’t showered yet today, he looked a mess, his hood still up, glasses off now, but even still, he didn’t think he was recognizable.

Glancing back down at the paper before he could draw more attention to himself, he tried to ignore it, pretend like nothing had happened. He tried his best to focus on the lead stories for the day, but his mind was elsewhere. Steve thumbed through the pages, past the headliners and delving into the more political, nationally-driven stories. Not necessarily looking to find an article about himself, but he did manage to stumble across one. _AMERICAN HERO: HOW ONE DEMOCRAT HAS MANAGED TO RALLY A NATION._

It made him wince. Politicians never really got to talk about themselves, they tended to focus on the issues that wound up defining them. He hated all the attention he was getting, no better or worse than any other candidates in his home state. Though they would beg to differ.

Around him, the scene changed without him so much as glancing up. People came and went, and the minutes passed indiscriminately. Steve became weirdly absorbed in his own story, smirking and smiling at the inconsistencies in the writing, and even in some of the outright lies, despite it being a supportive one. Nearly a half hour had gone by before he snapped out of his daze. He picked at a corner of the danish, looking up and around him again. He hadn’t exactly kept track of the people sitting at his sides, but across from him, the businessman still sat, distracted by his own little world.

Steve narrowed his eyes in concentration, as if trying to place where he’d seen him before. For the second time that day, the man must have felt his gaze, and he looked up. This time he did more than just smile — he bashfully lowered his eyes and chuckled. Flushing red, Steve glanced back down at his paper, sinking deep into the chair, raising the newsprint to hide his face. Fortunately his coffee was empty, as the cup threatened to spill over from the shift in position. This was stupid and childish, completely out of character, but he couldn’t stop himself from glancing up again. 

Slowly and deliberately, he lowered the paper, trying to angle his head to glance over the top of it — but the seat was barren. The briefcase remained, but the man had up and left it. For a moment, Steve considered getting up to chase after him, to tell him he forgot his things, but then he noticed the jacket draped over the chair, and his heart stopped pounding quite so hard. He was probably just getting another drink, or going to the bathroom, or something. 

Nothing to worry about.

Still, he turned his head to the right, towards the bathrooms. Nothing. Turning to the left, his stomach fell right to his knees, nearly jumping out of his skin. 

“Hey,” the man said to him, pulling a chair closer without waiting for a response. “Anything interesting happen in the world last night? Been reading my news aggregator, but it’s ninety-percent celebrity entertainment blogs.” He smirked, cheeky and playful. 

Steve could only stare blankly for a moment, folding the paper on his lap, shifting slightly to face him. Talking to people was part of his job. It unnerved him, thinking the man knew who he was, probably about to make a scene. So much for anonymity. So much for having his morning coffee undisturbed. “Merkel is proposing European Union sanctions,” he answered finally, trying to sound as composed as possible. “Could prove troublesome for Greece and Portugal if they pass through.”

Despite being in a suit and carrying a briefcase, the man didn’t seem too interested in the state of global economics. Still, he did a good show of pretending. “Really?” he said, managing to sound interested. “That’s… cool.” Despite his best efforts, they didn’t last too long. He let out a laugh, bowing his head and running a hand through his close-cropped hair. “Sorry, I spend all day listening to people talk about money and stuff. Didn’t look like you were really reading anything, so I thought—I’m not interrupting, am I?”

“No, no,” Steve insisted, probably too quickly but there was no going back now. “It’s fine. I think I fell asleep for a couple of minutes there.” 

Still grinning, the man pulled out his phone, ignoring the sheer rudeness to quickly type out a message. Steve noticed he had barely pulled his eyes away, and there was a twinkle in there, a slight sheen in them. “I’m Tony, by the way,” he said, glancing up quickly, typing blindly on his phone beneath him. “Sorry again. I don’t usually… _approach_ people like this, but I saw you staring.” He paused, laughing lightly. “You _were_ staring, right?”

The stomach that had fallen to Steve’s knees managed to pull itself back up, only to jump off of the diving board a second time. This wasn’t a supporter, or a detractor, or a fan — it was somebody hitting on him. Somehow, that made everything worse. He didn’t look good. At all. In fact, he’d taken great strides to ensure that he looked bad. “Steve,” he said, not elaborating past that. The notion of using a pseudonym crossed his mind, but the idea didn’t materialize much further than that. “And—I don’t think I was staring.”

“But you were definitely _looking_ , right?” Tony asked. “Or—oh god—did I completely misread all the signals? Do I have spinach in my teeth?” His lips parted, showing off his pearly whites, and he picked at his teeth. It was a beautiful smile, absolutely beautiful. Disarmingly beautiful, really. 

In a matter of seconds, Steve allowed himself to be completely disarmed. He shook his head, like a man hypnotized by a siren at sea in his desperation to not upset the stranger who had approached him. “No—you didn’t misread anything.” He wasn’t the type of man to stutter, but this was the closest he’d ever felt to it. “I did my fair share of looking.”

That seemed to make Tony’s day. One of his hands ran through the bit of stubble in the goatee he had growing, trying to hide the childish smile on his face. “Cool,” he said, trying to pass it off calmly. “Come here often?”

“When I can,” Steve answered, trying to be as equivocal as possible. This was all too real, too sudden, it was going to be a mistake if he let it persist. “How about you?”

“Here and there.” Tony went quiet for a moment, pocketing his phone again despite not having checked it for a few moments. “So, ah, what do you do?”

The question gave Steve pause. He didn’t want to lie, not exactly, but he also didn’t want to tell the truth. His stall was long enough to get him saved by the bell — or, rather, the buzzer. In his pocket, his phone started vibrating, and he pulled it out. “Sorry,” he said, moving his uneaten pastry to the arm of his chair and slowly getting to his feet. “One second — _hey_ , James. How’s it going?”

Tony’s gaze lingered on Steve as he stepped away to take his call, not looking away until he returned a few moments later. There was a definite change in his demeanour, more rushed. “Everything okay?” the man asked him, sounding more invested and concerned than a total stranger usually would.

“Hm? Oh, yeah,” Steve said, smiling weakly. “Just got called into work. I need to go shower, and—” 

Grinning, Tony cut him off. “Say no more. I know how it is.” He stood up, dwarfed in comparison to Steve, but he held his height rather well. “Just, hey, do me a favour?”

Looking over, Steve’s heart began palpitating in his chest. “Yeah?”

“Mind going for dinner with me?” he asked confidently. “Maybe tonight? I know a place.” 

It hadn’t exactly caught him off guard, but it wasn’t wholly expected, either. This was meant to be a fleeting encounter, a bit of stimulation before going into work and hearing about people berating and insulting him. The feel-good moment of the day. Steve had gone a couple years without a date — hell, he’d gone probably just as long without being genuinely hit on. Most of the people who tried to cozy up to him flirted, sure, but they wanted something, either a conquest or a story or an autograph. But this was somebody flirting with him when dressed in near-rags, unshowered, unshaven. He wasn’t used to it. 

Maybe that’s why he surprised himself by taking a chance, letting his brain shut off for a brief moment. “Yeah,” he said softly, nodding his head. “Why not?”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So -- when I posted chapter 1, I didn't realize I'd be losing internet for 8 months. I kept writing, and wound up at about 14 chapters before other projects took over my life. It is, ultimately, unfinished, but because of the interest, I will try to rework a couple chapters and bring the story to a natural conclusion. Hope you enjoy it -- and apologies, as I haven't proofread it in a couple months.

Almost immediately, Steve regretted his decision. That only festered over the next little while. First in the shower, then when putting on his suit, and again when getting into the town car provided for him by his campaign manager. His phone weighed heavily in his pocket, as if anticipating a text or a call from Tony any minute. 

Over the next couple of hours, his mind wandered. He managed to pull himself together just barely long enough to film snippets of a campaign ad, listening half-heartedly to the instructor given to him by the director and the orders barked by James. Nobody seemed to notice just how out of it he was, or if they did nobody mentioned it to him directly. They were polite that way, not anything like stereotypical New Yorkers.

The fateful text did arrive, buzzing in his trousers, during his lunch break, scarfing down a burger and some fries. He pulled it from his pocket, hesitating before unlocking the screen. _[if ur still down for dinner, meet at 6. hunter + main.]_ The way he made it sound, so simple, as if him not showing up wouldn’t have been the end of the world. Funny, how it made him just a little bit more secure in his decision. 

 _[Wouldn’t miss it.]_ he responded, a soft smile on his face. 

Thereafter, the rest of the day didn’t seem half bad. Sure he had his moments of doubt and denial, times where he was positive he should pull out his phone and cancel the date. He had so much to do, so many other things to worry about. There was no time to spend with somebody he’d probably never talk to again after tonight, because that’s usually how these things worked. At least with him.

By the time five-thirty had rolled around, Steve had managed to talk himself out of cancelling a solid twelve times, settling once and for all on just going, having a nice, quiet dinner, and then going back to his apartment and carrying on with his life as if nothing had happened. 

He was already dressed up, so he didn’t bother to stop off at his hotel before heading to the predetermined location. He caught the tram from the headquarters along the Main Street line, stopping off on Hunter Avenue — spotting Tony pacing back and forth in front of what looked like a hole-in-the-wall bistro, one he’d never heard of before. Getting off the bus, he started towards Tony, who noticed him, pulling him into a bit of a hug when they reached one another. “You’re a few minutes late,” he pointed out, smiling wide. “I was getting worried. Thought you might stand me up.”

It was clear he was joking, so Steve resisted the urge to argue and defend himself, and simply returned the hug. It didn’t last too long, just brief enough to get the point across, and give him enough time to take in the scent of the cologne his date was wearing. Citrus, a touch of mint, backing with florals. They pulled apart, and Tony immediately took the lead, wrapping his arm around Steve’s and leading him towards the restaurant. “I hope you like it. Small, cozy, best filet mignon outside of New York. Nice and quiet. You seem like the type of guy that likes your privacy.” Steve glanced over, and caught Tony’s eye. “You clean up nicely.”

They entered the bistro, and evidently Tony had made reservations, so the woman led them directly to their seats. It was dim and candlelit, a few couples scattered around the restaurant, but spread out enough so that each table had their privacy. Steve rounded the table behind Tony, playing the gentleman and pulling out his chair for him, allowing him the opportunity to be seated first, then slipped into his own. In silence, they perused the menus for a few moments, each waiting for the right moment to say something.

In the end, it was a simple comment on drinks that sparked the conversation again. “Do you drink wine?” Tony asked him, glancing up.

“Of course,” Steve said with a stiff nod. 

“Red or white?”

“Either.”

Tony smirked. “I like the way you drink,” he laughed. 

 _I like the way you smell_. No, don’t say that. Say literally anything but that. Steve mentally cursed himself and her nervous habits, trying to calm down. Abruptly, he pushed his chair back, causing Tony to start. “Sorry — I just need to go to the bathroom,” he said with a nervous laugh. “I’ve been holding It in all day.”

He excused himself, making a beeline for the bathroom. He didn’t have to pee, just had to wash the red off of his face. Leaning over the basin of the sink, he ran the water to a warm temperature, splashing it over his face. He rubbed his cheeks to the point of pain, the skin sagging slightly. Glancing back up, he watched himself in the reflection of the mirror. After a moment of staring at himself, he realized there was somebody behind him.

At recognition, Tony stepped forward, a lopsided smirk on his face. “You seem nervous,” he pointed out, probably fully aware that he was stating the obvious but not caring. 

Steve didn’t turn around, he just continued holding his gaze through the mirror, wiping away a few stray water droplets starting to streak down his temple. For a few long moments, he considered lying, but he wasn’t much of a liar. Maybe it made him a bad politician, maybe it made him a good one, he just couldn’t do it. “Just a bit,” he admitted, pursing his lips. 

When Tony laughed, Steve managed to crack a smile. “Listen,” he said softly, stepping closer. It was hard to tell how far away he had been, depth perception not the greatest in the curve of the mirror, but he could feel the shift in the air as Tony stepped next to him, checking his teeth in the mirror. “You didn’t answer me this morning—when I asked what you do.” He paused, smelling his breath. “So I did a bit of snooping. Hope you don’t mind. Steve Rogers. Man, I’d vote for you.”

Casting a sidelong glance, Steve tensed up, fingers curling on the porcelain of the sink. 

“I don’t care if you’re some big shot political guy. I’m nobody.” He turned his head, and Steve lowered his own. “I just want to get to know you a bit better. Make sure my intuition is right. I chose this place because it’s under the radar. Nobody here is going to call the media, they’re not going to make a scene. They’re just going to let us have dinner together in peace.” His mouth shifted as he bit down on his lip, hand resting on Steve’s upper arm. “What do you think? Can we just have dinner?”

It had been an incredibly simple pep talk — but it seemed to work. Releasing a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding in, Steve nodded with a smile, and Tony’s hand clapped on his arm with happy affirmation. “I promise,” he assured him, leading him from the washroom, heading back to their table, “it’s going to be fun.”

Steve Rogers didn’t usually fancy himself as a basketcase. He put forth an air of confidence, self-assurance, and meditating calm. In debates, he kept an even head, a level voice. It was jarring how quickly all of that seemed to melt away when faced against something as simple as dating. Of course, it had been years since his last date, back when he didn’t have reporters breathing down his neck, or an image to maintain. This was a world he never expected himself to be a part of again, but the opportunity had been too good to pass up. And Tony had proven too charming to deny.

His date did a good job of acting as if nothing was amiss. He restarted the conversation normally, like they hadn’t just had a talk in the bathroom of a midscale french bistro. Steve managed to fall into a pattern of normalcy because of it. He smiled, he laughed, he joked as he ate. They shared their food when it finally arrived. They talked about their lives, even if Tony did take an ample step back when the sharing got to be personal. 

“My parents are proud of me, sure,” he said, taking a small sip of the sweet red wine they had paired with their meals. “Now that I’m running a campaign, they like to call me every day with updates, as if I hadn’t seen them myself.” With a laugh, he picked at the steak, cutting a sliver off. “Like today, my mother called to tell me there was a new smear ad against me airing back home. Already knew that.”

Tony smiled lightly. “Damned Republicans,” he teased, tilting his head to the side. “Would do anything it takes to take a man down.” 

“Well, when they’re ten points down in the polls, can’t say I blame them.” The conversation died there for a moment, heart monitor beeping a flatline right between them, and Tony had already done so much that Steve tried to muster an appropriate way to further the discussion. “What about you?” he settled on finally. “Are you close to your parents?”

For what might have been the first time in his life, Tony seemed to be at a loss for words. But it didn’t last for too long, he was a fast rally and a quick thinker. “My dad and I… we’re really similar,” he said with a smirk and a weak shrug. “Or so people say. That’s why we—we don’t really talk. Not much.” 

Leaning in, Steve offered a condoling, warm smile. “Sorry to hear that.”

“It’s fine,” he said, waving his hand noncommittally, and to his credit it seemed to be genuine. “Really. We see each other at Christmas and his birthday, but after that we just let each other live our lives. It’s for the best. We’d be at each other’s throats if we spent any more time together than we already do.”

“Can’t imagine not having my parents in my life,” Steve said, acutely aware that the conversation was veering further on the side of ‘too much personal information’, especially for a first date. Especially for an only date. But he didn’t mind so much. His life had been overtaken by the same six people crowded around him in his offices — they were his friends, sure, but their primary motivation was the election. He had other friends, but he’d been forced to cast them aside in order to focus on the campaign. He was tired. Haggard. At his wit’s end. This was the first genuine conversation he’d had in months. He didn’t want it to end.

But his plate was cleared, and he was finishing the dregs of his wine, Tony only a couple of bites behind him. There would be dessert, maybe, but that wouldn’t take too long, and they’d go their separate ways. Only he didn’t want to, as much as he knew it would be the smart thing. For too long Steve had done the smart thing, even if it wasn’t the right thing — it was a political endeavour. Being smart meant betraying his soul in favour of his mind. His legs kicked out slowly beneath the table, brushing his leg against Tony’s. His heart was fluttering in his chest, threatening to burst through his ribs and kill him. By now, he was willing to accept that eventuality. He just wanted to ensure a second date. It didn’t have to be anything fancy, even if it was just like that morning — meeting for coffee before they both went off to work, dressed down and casual, discrete and private. 

“Your campaign is based out of New York, right?” Tony asked, his own foot stretching out, resting next to Steve’s, who could only nod a few times in quick agreement. “So am I. I’m just in town for the week, doing a bit of hard-nosed lobbying.” He smirked. “I was thinking — maybe we could get together again, back in the City. I know a couple places I’d like to try out. And I’d appreciate a bit of company.”

He couldn’t help but smile, so wide that it made his cheeks hurt. Steve glanced down, abashed, and chuckled to himself. “Yeah,” he murmured, looking up against after a brief wait. “I’d like that a lot.”

“Nice.”

They went quiet again, but it seemed a more natural conclusion to a conversation than an awkward silence. Tony lifted the last bite of his dinner to his mouth, and they competed in a bid to see who could hold eye contact for longer. Steve had moved past the point of feeling awkward about all of this. Quite the contrary, now. He was confident. Excited. This was a new experience, one he didn’t think he’d missed, but apparently he had. 

It was a nice, serene, almost perfect moment. 

Like most perfect moments in Steve’s life, this one was interrupted. His phone buzzed in his pocket, and he pulled a scowl. Tony seemed forgiving, if a little bit amused, and nodded his head when Steve looked at him apologetically. Pushing his chair back, he reached into his pocket. _Bucky._ “I’m so sorry,” he murmured, standing up. “I need to take this.”

“Don’t apologize,” Tony said with a smile, signalling for the waitress as Steve walked away, cutting through the tables to get to the front door, stopping in the doorway to take the call.

Pressing the phone to his ear, he waited without saying hello. Sure enough, Bucky started the conversation with no need for preamble, cutting right in to the latest possible point in the story. “We’re getting a lot of press. Are you watching CNN right now? FOX?” 

“No,” Steve said firmly. “I’m on a—I’m out on the town tonight.” Probably best not to mention the date, even if it was to his best friend. “What’s being said?”

There was a laugh from the other end of the receiver. “They think his campaign is gathering momentum against yours. Apparently people are willing to believe that you’re anti-family, anti-business, and anti-America. They’re bringing up your work in the Middle East, building that all-girls school in Tehran. Evidently that’s a bad thing these days.”

“Well, that’s conservative bias for you,” he murmured, plugging one of his ears to shield out the ambient sounds of people passing by in the doorway. “But it’s nothing I’m not used to. Think we can swing it before our response ads get edited down?” 

Bucky paused, mulling over the idea. “We might drop a couple points, but your precinct isn’t usually swayed by smears, and they aren’t going to put their faith in shock jocks. I’m more worried about the middle voters getting the wrong impression,” he explained. “So I’m scheduling some press meetings when we head back to New York. A couple interviews on the talk show circuit. It’s time to go big or go home, Stevey. We’re in the final stretch, we’ve got to pull out all the stops. I believe in you, I _know_ you can rally back from here.”

“Thanks, man.”

 _Click_.

Not even the bad news could bring down his good mood. He had a firm smile on his face as he turned back into the restaurant. When he approached the table, Tony was being handed the receipt from the point of sale machine, sliding his credit card — _black_ — into his wallet. He offered Steve a smile, thanked the waitress, and waited for her to walk away before asking the question that burned on the tip of his tongue. “What was all that about?”

“Campaign manager,” Steve said softly, unable to lose the smile, even if he knew the evening was drawing to a close. “Apparently I’m going to be making the rounds in New York next week. The people can’t get enough of me.”

“Can’t say I blame them,” Tony said proudly, smirking. “You’re much more charming in person than you were in the three hours of Youtube videos I watched today. I didn’t think that was even possible.”

Steve let out a laugh. Not a reserved laugh — a real, truly hearty laugh that made his stomach ache. This was all too good to be true. Somebody out there must have been looking out for him, or he was finally getting his karma from what felt like lifetimes of trying to be a good person, paid in full over the course of what was easily the best day of his life.

Nothing could take this away from him. Nothing.

“Yeah, well,” he said, scratching his chin, “despite what the ads might tell you, I’m not a half bad guy.” The smile on his face turned into a cheeky grin. “And I just hope that, come election time, you’ll do the honour of voting for me. Howard Stark is a good man and all, but he’s not right for New York.” 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HOLY PLOT TWIST, BATMAN! Right? I didn't see that coming. I wonder how it will impact our intrepid heroes? Will it even matter? How does Steve not know the face of his opponent's son? This, and other plot holes, to be addressed in CHAPTER THREE: THE THIRD CHAPTER.

Tony Stark’s intentions hadn’t been malicious, and he certainly hadn’t meant to be facetious, but things had snowballed and spiralled so quickly that he couldn’t quite control them once they had started. He was anal, compulsive, and a hardened control freak — this was the furthest he’d been from his comfort zone in decades. 

His father was running in a congressional campaign against his date. It was a zany Three’s Company plot, swiped directly from an 80s sitcom. But it wasn’t cheesy, it wasn’t cute and funny and coy and silly. It was serious. It was politics. If Howard Stark had taught him anything in thirty-some-odd years, it was that two things were never to be taken lightly: business and politics. He’d already managed to conquer the business world and put it behind him, now he was looking to expand the family’s empire into government. 

He hadn’t been lying when he’d told Steve he didn’t see much of his father — not exactly. The two men were so incredibly similar that when they clashed, civilizations crumbled in their wake. They were both pigheaded and strong and arrogant, and personal meetings were few and far between, but it was difficult to ignore your boss. For weeks he’d listened to complaints about Steve Rogers’ campaign against his father — the general annoyance, the absolute hatred, the sheer respect Howard felt towards his competitor. It was grating, but at the same time enthralling. He’d never been one for politics, Tony, but he almost found himself growing interested.

But maybe he was just saying that. Maybe he was only thinking it because across from him was Steve himself. Handsome but humble, intelligent but grounded, proud but incredibly shy. This didn’t feel like a first date, it felt like a fifth or a sixth, where the conversations broached, and the level of interest he was feeling in the other man. He hadn’t been able to share much. Tony was many things, but he wasn’t a liar. He was struggling with the decision to deny his identity, maybe coming clean would be best, but he was having such a good time of it that he didn’t want to ruin things.

Part of him had been hoping the whole evening would be a bust. Maybe they wouldn’t connect, or they would have a good time but not a good enough time to further it, but halfway through the date he new that was impossible. It left him with the decision to tell the truth or shy away from it. 

From a professional standpoint, he was always looking at the greater good over individual gain, especially his own. Money drove his worldview, sure, but he wasn’t a total bastard. Or maybe he was. Tonight wasn’t doing much to prove otherwise, but he managed to look past it. He spent eight hours a day being selfish for his father. Just once he wanted to be selfish for himself. 

When Steve mentioned his father, all Tony did was smile and chuckle. What he didn’t know couldn’t hurt him, right? It was only a first date, which meant the prying personal questions were at a minimum, but eventually, sometime soon, he’d ask what his last name was. He’d ask where he worked, what exactly he did for a living. That would come up sooner than later, and he’d need to make the decision then, on the fly, because the longer he thought about it now, the more it would weigh on his conscience and the larger his guilt would grow.

“Did you want to get out of here?” he asked, pulling the paid bill closer to himself, folding it in half, then in half again — playing with paper was a nervous habit he had. “There’s a really good ice cream place a couple blocks away, if you wanted to grab dessert?”

His eyes lingered on Steve’s for a moment, flicking back and forth in an attempt to read his reaction. To his relief, the man smiled. “Only if you let me pay for it. And for the next date.” 

Tony nodded quickly, excitedly, more than willing to agree if it meant another opportunity to see him. They’d already somewhat agreed to it, but this felt more concrete. Even if it meant he’d need to lie about something. It was a small lie, a white lie. He wasn’t expecting this to progress forever, maybe a few more dates, and then they’d exit each other’s lives forever. Just a happy memory. A distant memory. “That sounds fair. You’ve got expensive taste in wine.”

“I’m pretty sure _you_ picked it out,” Steve reminded him, taking the lead and starting to stand once again. He’d barely had time to sit and recuperate from his phone call before they were ready to leave. “Was it really that expensive?”

“The _most_ expensive,” he jabbed back, smiling wide. “I like to spoil my dates.” 

Looking over his shoulder, Steve laughed and started towards the door once again. “So you come here a lot, then?” 

Tony looked him over, a coy smile on his face. “Oh, every night. That table’s always on reserve for me.” It was ballsy to be making jokes like that, but he felt comfortable doing it. There was a natural affinity there, even if every word he spoke cut like a dagger in his stomach. 

They reached the doorway and stepped out into the cold. The day had certainly been one for fluctuating weather, the mild morning turning into a brisk afternoon, and now a frigid evening. Steve had done up his jacket to his neck, arms buried deep into his pockets, and Tony fell into step alongside him. Despite the weather, they elected to walk to the ice cream parlour, enjoying the company and the silver-lined clouds of breath that mixed together. It was a silent walk, but a comfortable one. At one point, as they waited for one of the stoplights to change — this wasn’t New York, and neither of them trusted the Washington drivers to act the same to jaywalking — Steve glanced over, pulling his arm out of his pocket, curling his hand around Tony’s, squeezing it tightly. He didn’t have mitts on, and the added heat of Steve’s gloved hand warmed him up.

“European or tropical vacation?” he asked abruptly, partially inspired by the stray bits of snow falling around them, and how the streetlights reflected on the nearly empty roads. Shop lights shone in all directions, remnants of Christmas bulbs still hanging in some windows, the streets of Washington, D.C. decorated for the winter season in silver and blues. It was strangely romantic — their own piece of the city. 

Steve mulled it over, not once loosening his grasp on Tony’s hand. He pulled them closer together, keen on having another person present. “I’d rather go to Europe most days. But it’s cold out,” he said with a chuckle, his breath clear in the winter air. “So I’m going to have to say a trip to the Caribbean would be very much appreciated right now.” Was it too soon to say ‘then let’s go’? Probably. Definitely. “Let me think, a question for you,” he continued, glancing over at Tony and smirking. It was impossible not to smile back. “Would you rather be rich and unhappy or be happy, but poor?”

“Loaded question,” Tony said with a thin laugh. “Can’t I be rich _and_ happy? I mean… I’m already pretty loaded.” His hand firmed around Steve’s, fingers knitting together, trying to keep himself from going numb. “And you’re making me pretty happy right now.” For a second, his tone went serious. “I’m glad you changed your mind. Decided to give it a try.”

He was stopped in his tracks, body being turned to the side. A bright, yellow light from one of the shops blinded him, but Steve’s massive body blocked out the light, silhouetting against the window. Their hands separated, but not for long — the next thing he felt was a hand at the back of his neck, craning it upward, and Steve was leaning down.

It was everything a first kiss should have been. Short and to the point, but just long enough for it to register in his memory, a perfect moment preserved in time. Long enough to taste Steve’s salty lips, a shade of that night’s dinner on his breath. Try as he might not to let it end, he forced himself to, and they pulled away, lost as they were staring at one another. “I’m glad, too,” Steve murmured, sticking his hands back into his pockets, and the red tint to his cheeks was obvious.

Tony was rarely stunned into silence, but it seemed to be a more frequent thing when he was around Steve. “That… was nice,” he finally settled on, thinking it was the appropriate thing to say after a kiss that literally took his breath away. “Definitely nice.” 

By then, the ice cream parlour was just a couple of storefront away, and they continued their trek with a definite change in attitude. Tony, at least, had a spring in his step, and the furtive glances in Steve’s direction told him it must have been the same for him, as he was smiling at a private thought, trying to avoid even looking in Tony’s direction. 

The shop itself was a nice change from the brisk weather. Warm and inviting, the walls painted a pale peach colour, adorned with signage reminiscent of the late sixties, early seventies. The woman behind the bar had her hair done up in two buns, a childlike, chubby face hidden behind a thin layer of makeup. “Evening, boys,” she said with crinkled eyes, and they both muttered distracted greetings in return. “Let me know when you’ve decided what you want.”

He caught Steve looking at the assortment of flavours, but Tony already had an idea in mind. Approaching the glass casing, scooting up right next to his date, leaning in to examine one of the flavours, he glanced over with a smile. “Want to split a banana split?” he asked in a light tone, trying to sound fun and playful while still remaining silent. Besides the solitary employee, they were alone in the shop, and he didn’t want to be too loud, knowing every word they shared would be overheard.

Because of that, they ate in relative silence, two spoons digging into the freshly prepared sundae made for them, distinctly aware that the girl at the counter was keeping a close eye on them with an innocent smile on her face, but Tony tried to ignore it and focus on what mattered. The conversation was lighter than it had been earlier, turning from ‘getting to know you’ topics to more lighthearted fare. Television, books, movies, the works. By the time they’d finished, nine o’clock had come and gone, and they both seemed to have realized it at the same time, and they both started to pack their things up. 

As promised, Steve had covered the bill for dessert, though Tony had insisted on paying — saying it was his duty to cover the whole first date, not just the first half, but ever the gentleman, Steve had elbowed his way to the register first. They left the parlour with their hands held together, Tony resting his head sidelong against Steve’s arm. The snow had started falling more heavily now, though not too strong as to impede their trek. Their apartments were both relatively close to one another, and close to Sam’s, so neither was particularly cavalier about escorting the other home. In the back of his mind, Tony knew he would drop Steve off first, taking a path that would cross them in front of his place before reaching his own.

“This is me,” Steve said, glancing up the height of the hotel, the lights shining brightly on the downtown street. He relinquished his grip on Tony’s hand, and they turned to face one another again, their breath mingling with one another. “I guess I’ll… give you a call?” His head tilted slightly to the side, edging closer, not quite pressing their bodies together, but close enough for Tony to feel the heat radiating off of him. 

“Oh, yeah, definitely,” Tony said, feeling breathless already, their heads inching forward almost too slowly for him to bare, but he held back, letting the conversation run its course. “I’ll be back in New York by the weekend — as soon as you’re back, and if you’re not too tired from being on The View, we’ll set something up.”

For the second time that night, it was Steve who couldn’t contain himself. Their lips brushed together at his insistence, gloved hand running through the back of Tony’s hair, thumbing through individual strands. Though they had already shared their first kiss, this one was no less interesting, and it was certainly more hungry and intense. It kept the innocence of a first date kiss, just two sets of lips coming together in desperate passion. It was all Tony could do to resist nipping at the plump, warm lips of his companion, but somehow he managed it. The kiss went on for longer than he could count, the seconds dragging on and on, though it certainly wasn’t a complaint. The taste of dinner on Steve’s breath had turned fruity and sweet, and it was a beautiful blend he never wanted to stop tasting, but they pulled back in unison, not far enough that Tony could still feel the warmth of his breathing on his cold skin, just enough to stop them from bruising one another’s mouths. 

Tony’s breath was shaky and impossible to control, but he tried his best to subdue himself. “I’ll take that as a yes,” he said after a moment, and broke into a smile.

“A definite yes,” Steve confirmed, stepping back. Tony’s hair felt barren without those big, strong hands running along his scalp, but the wind provided ample distraction for him. “Are you going to be okay? Getting back by yourself?” 

“I’m going to be fine. I promise.” 

Steve smiled. His perfectly aligned teeth, his beautifully curved lips, showing and upturned all for him. “Send me a text when you get to your hotel. I feel bad not walking you home.” 

Against his will, one of his hands shot out and brushed along Steve’s arm, shooting him a warm smile. “I’m from New York, born and raised. Think I’m afraid of some DCers? Not a chance.” 

Despite everything, Steve continued to eye him over. “Just be careful, okay?” he implored a final time, taking a small step backwards. His smile lingered as he turned away. “I’ll see you soon, Tony.”

“Night,” Tony responded softly, watching as he ensured Steve got inside, waiting even longer as he attempted to see past the doors to see him get onto one of the elevators. Only then did he start heading further down the street, crossing at a set of lights, completely alone on the deserted road.

He pulled out his phone from his pocket, checking for messages (and ignoring all of them), quickly dialling a number before raising the phone to his ear. It rang five times before the other end went quiet, then the sound of shuffling and ambient noises started up. “Tony?”

“Hey, yeah — I know it’s late, just wanted to tell you about my night.” Another brief silence, and if it had been anybody else, Tony might have equated the silence for disinterest, but he knew better. “I had a nice, long conversation with Steve Rogers. And I think you and I need to talk strategy about your campaign, dad. I’ve got a few tips for you.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here, have some Bucky.

By the time he turned thirty, Steve Rogers liked to think he’d developed a nice, healthy routine for his life. The days felt as long as they should be — rarely was he bored. Every minute was occupied by something productive, every hour chronicled and outlined clearly in his mind. Even when he was just watching television, or napping on the subway, it was all deliberate and intentional.

Not even thirty years of rigorous life training could hold a candle to an evening with Tony.

In the week following his date, everything in his life seemed to have new life breathed into it. His campaign was on a hot streak that not even his top analysts could fathom, his mood was better, even canned soup managed to taste fresher and healthier in this altered state. The days went by more slowly, now, even though he was constantly kept on his toes. Spare seconds between carefully planned minutes were spent daydreaming, thinking about Tony, and they became seconds wasted. Distractions were like sand in his well-oiled gears, the slightest disruption could send the whole thing out of tempo. 

Things were _definitely_ out of tempo, but he wasn’t complaining. This was a new tune, upbeat and melodious, like the greatest symphony ever composed, even if it was only meant for his own ears. He liked it better that way. Secrets turned into scandals in the political world if they weren’t properly kept, and the very best kept secrets had a certain nature to them, making them even more special. Tony was his secret — his dirty little secret — and that made his life more interesting than it had ever been.

Even now, trying to listen to Bucky give him his debriefing before the all-important Good Morning New York interview, he found himself more preoccupied with thoughts of Tony than his talking points. Not to say he wasn’t listening — he _was_ , just it wasn’t his turn to talk, so he allowed himself a few seconds of the distraction. 

“Definitely,” he said, glancing up and immediately snapping back to attention when his turn came to speak. “I’m a little bit worried about coming off as… _smug_? Especially if they follow up with that line of questioning. I don’t want it to seem like I’m using my degree to belittle Stark.”

James nodded. He always nodded when he was thinking of a way to tell Steve off, call it a nervous habit. “You’re going to have to belittle him eventually. These campaign ads are only getting worse. We need to mount an offensive against him.”

“Listen, Bucky—” Steve said, swivelling on the chair. _What’s he doing right now?_ “What’s my lead in the polls right now?” They said the answer in unison. “Twelve points. Right. I actually _went up_ because of that last round of ads. If you’re right, and if he’s going to come out with another new one this sometime next week, it’s going to wind up working against him. Why can’t we keep doing what we’re doing? Clearly it’s working.”

“First off, stop calling me Bucky.” He had a smile on his face as he said it. “You’re the one person who still calls me that. _Second_ , you’re sitting in what should be a democratic stronghold. Your incumbent won with eighty-four percent of the vote. You’re sitting at just under sixty-seven. As far as I’m concerned, you’re losing this campaign right now. Howard Stark has connections. He’s got the business backing, no matter how much you talk _local_ business, you’re in a district that’s covered in international business. Stark Industries controls this area. If you want to win, you need to covet Wall Street. To win them over, you need to show them you’re the better businessman.”

He exhaled sharply, their eyes locking in a stern gaze, a battle of endurance as to who would break first. Usually it was Steve’s battle, but today his head wasn’t there. His mind was, his brain was actively thinking of comebacks and secondary strategies, but his subconscious thoughts drifted through the breeze.

“You’re off your game,” James said, quirking a brow with a smirk. He snapped his fingers to regain Steve’s attentions, his eyes actively glazing over. “Hey, buddy, c’mon. You’ve got half an hour until you’re on the show. Need me to get some coffee in you?” Scratching his chin, Steve realized he was smiling. He blinked a few times, focusing his vision again on James, who was looking at him with amusement. “Seriously — did you get some good news this morning or something? ‘Cause you’re freaking me out with that smile.”

It vanished as soon as attention was called to it. “It’s nothing. Just though of a joke I heard on the radio on my way over.”

“That’s the problem,” James said, leaning in onto the table. “You _never_ remember jokes you heard hours ago. C’mon, Steve. I know I’m being a hard-ass, I just want to see you win this, but we’re friends first. You can tell me. What’s got you all smiley? Don’t deny it, either. I’ve been noticing it all week.”

Part of the problem with having a secret with yourself meant being unable to tell the one person you trusted unconditionally. Not because he thought James would react badly, but because he _knew_ James would react badly. Everything he did on the campaign trail was so heavily scrutinized that it was nearly impossible to go for lunch without it first being vetted by his staff, to make sure it lived up to a significant number of standards and procedures. A date — especially a date with a near-stranger, and a male one at that — would attract the wrong kind of attention. It was important to keep things on the down-low. 

Fortunately, reporters didn’t actively trail him or anything. He just had a very distinct face, not the sort to be lost in a sea of thousands. Journalists had a bad habit of finding him when he least wanted them to, hence the morning activewear disguises. “It’s nothing, honestly,” he finally told Bucky, shrugging limply. “I’m just thinking.”

As if on cue, his phone vibrated on the table. Immediately, his hand reached up to grab it, before the message could appear on the screen and Bucky’s wandering eyes trailed over it. His campaign manager noticed the nervous fidget, but he didn’t say anything, simply watching at Steve read the message with a wide, stupid grin on his face. _[saw ur gonna be on gmny today. Im watching and rooting for you]_

That was enough to make him laugh, shielding his face to hide the blush and he tapped out a quick response one-handed. It was succinct, effectively conveying his thoughts into one clearly worded message: _[Dinner?]_

Almost instantly, Tony’s response popped up. _[yes]_

“Okay, seriously, what’s going on?” Despite the insistence of ‘seriously’, Bucky had a chuckle caught in his throat, just happy to see his friend happy. 

Setting his phone in his pocket, Steve looked up at his campaign manager and smiled lopsidedly. “My dad surprised my mom with plane tickets to Ireland. She’s excited to trace back some family history.” It was alarming how easily the lie came to him, tempered by the fact that it wasn’t a total lie. His father _was_ going to surprise his mother, but not for another couple of weeks as they allowed the campaign to unfold. 

It was evidently enough to convince Bucky, as he didn’t bring it up again. The rest of the morning meeting went on as usual — short, tense verbal spars back and forth, preparations for the live-to-air interview, but the most important discussion was where they should go for lunch. Steve was sure to keep the meal options simple, not wanting to ruin his appetite for that evening. The last thing he wanted was to be too full, tired, and grumpy when he got to see Tony again. Just texting back and forth wasn’t enough. 

Just thinking about it made the subtle salt of Tony’s mouth echo in his sensory memory. 

He needed to actively quell it as he fixed his suit for the show, standing on a mark just off of the set, waiting for his cue from the hostess, James talking in his ear, reminding him of the three key discussion topics he needed to hone in on, questions he needed to manipulate into longer speeches, and pitfalls to avoid. From somewhere, he couldn’t quite picture where, he heard his name welcoming him to the studio, and he was pushed forward, and from there the rest of the interview was a blur. It went well, he actively knew it had gone well, but he was just going through the motions.

That had been the case lately. At least in the past week, he’d noticed how phoned in things were becoming. Or maybe they’d always been that way, but he’d been so complacent in his life that he hadn’t even noticed, and it took somebody drastic like Tony to make him realize the error of his ways. In a way, it made him less excited to go to work in the morning, a 360 degree shift in demeanour. He still wanted it, he wanted it more than anything, but suddenly it wasn’t the be-all and end-all. And he was okay with it, which perhaps surprised him more than anything. 

Following the Good Morning New York interview, he had two other minor appearances to make, both on opposite ends of his district, but the traffic let up and allowed him to make it to both venues with time to spare. His lunch hour was spent talking to Bucky about the hockey game that weekend, and the afternoon was five straight hours of hardened meetings with potential sponsors, existing supporters, and a focus group hoping to hone his focus in the final stretch of the campaign. 

The day flew by, but he couldn’t remember any of it. 

“Any plans for tonight?” Bucky asked him as the final tester left the conference room, leaving them on the opposite side of double-sided glass to mull over the results. It hadn’t been their most successful endeavour, mostly positive comments, which was always exciting, but it was the constructive criticism that always kept him motivated. On a day like today, when his motivation was already shot, it would have been a nice way to remind himself of what he was trying to accomplish, to refocus his priorities. 

He glanced over, waiting anxiously for his phone to ring, but trying to look patient and calm and fully present. “Not sure yet,” he said, scrunching up his face. “You?”

Closing one of the binders laid out on the long wooden table, Bucky remained silent, keeping his eyes on his friend. “I was thinking maybe you and I could get some dinner?” he asked. “You made me realize today that I have been a shitty friend lately, I’ve been so focused on—all this.” He gestured around himself, trying to make himself as big and dramatic as possible. “I feel like I don’t know what’s going on with you the person anymore, I’ve only talked to you the candidate.” 

“Maybe not tonight,” he replied quickly, though he tried not to sound so prepared. “But I’d really like that. I miss you.”

James smiled at him. “I miss you too.” 

“Tomorrow?” Steve pleaded, squinting his eyes apologetically.

“Yeah,” he relented. “Tomorrow. But you need to promise me.” 

He crossed his hand over his chest, smirking childishly. “I swear, James Barnes, you and I are going to hang out tomorrow night.”

A loud crack sounded as James dropped one of the binders on top of another, starting to stack them, making them easier to pick up. His gaze hung on Steve, smiling. “Tell me about him,” he said, voice quiet, trying to sound curious rather than outright nosy.

It took him aback, the directness of the question. His mouth hung open as he glanced over, doing his best to look innocent and bemused, but he knew Bucky would see right through any attempts at lying. “Was it that obvious?” he asked, running a hand through the coarse blonde hair atop his head.

“Listen,” he responded, lowering his voice and leaning in on the table. “I’ve known you for, what, twenty years now? I know what you get like when you’re obsessing over somebody, and it’s _exactly_ like this.” The smile on his face grew wider, and it looked like Bucky the friend was trumping Bucky the manager right then and there, but Steve didn’t know how much longer that might last. “So tell me about him.”

Exhaling, Steve tilted his head back, a laugh escaping from his throat. “He’s really _handsome._ And intelligent, and witty, and _nice_ , and he makes me feel excited.” Now he was sounding like a lovesick schoolboy, and part of his resented feeling that way, but he’d come so far in the past week that he couldn’t help but embrace it now. “We’re getting dinner tonight.”

He realized just then that James had rounded the table and was clapping him on the shoulder. It felt like college again, playing wingman for one another. The hand squeezed against his upper arm, and the weight shifted as he pulled a chair up next to Steve, angled to face him. “I know you don’t want to hear this right now, and I’m crazy happy for you, but will you give me five minutes to be the awful campaign manager again?”

Tensing up at every extremity, Steve nodded, knowing he had to hear it.

“I just need you to be careful, alright, Steve?” Bucky’s voice was incredibly patient and friendly, which betrayed what Steve was positive would be a new hole-tearing. “I know you’re not in the closet. You know that, I know that, _most_ people know that. You’ve got a big left following in the place, but think about the size of this population. Right now, you’re ahead only because of swing voters, and they’re the lowest common denominator for us right now. Anything can set them off. They think with their TV sets, not with their heads. Given how ready to drag you through the fire FOX has been so far, if you get seen on a date, especially with a _man_ , it could wreak havoc on everything we’ve been working for the past couple of months. Everything _you_ have earned.”

Steve closed his eyes, a small smile on his face. He nodded a handful of times, stiff, solid movements, mostly to himself. Midway through the speech, he had felt the buzz in his pocket stemming from his phone, but he opted to ignore it. Instead of answering, he tipped his head forward and turned it to the side, making eye contact with Bucky. His best friend. His very best friend and the very best campaign manager a person could ask for. “I know,” he said simply, mouth forming a firm line on his face. “And you know what? I think he’s worth it.”

Despite the grim nature of his response, Bucky replaced his hand on Steve’s shoulder, squeezing it again. “That’s all I ask, man,” he offered with a smile. “Now check your phone, your crotch is vibrating.”

With a happy smile, a thankful smile, he pushed his chair out and pulled his phone from its confines, punching in his password and skimming over the message rapidly. _[hungry. food now?]_

Unable to hold in the laughter, Steve sent his reply. _[Starving.]_

The reply came so quick, he was left wondering if they were canned replies and he was just talking to an out of office machine. _[cool. do you know the weird gastro lounge on w 22_ _nd_ _? meet there? if you dont, my car is going to pick u up. just tell me where in this fair city you are.]_

_[Are you a machine? I know where it is. Meet in an hour?]_

_[yes.]_ The first text came back near instantly. _[not fast enough. hungry. i’m coming to you. we can get street meat on the way.]_

He didn’t have the heart to say no. Not to Tony.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay -- computer change, took a while to get my stuff back up and running fully!

Tony was already waiting for him by the time Steve got down the elevator. He felt a little bit guilty for keeping him waiting, but when he saw the limousine all that fell away. Over the past few months he’d travelled from place to place in relative style, but this was something else entirely. Jet black, perfectly cleaned and shiny. The door opened from the inside, swinging clear on the hinges, and from the comparative darkness of the cabin, he could see Tony inside, scooting further down the seat.

“In,” he said sharply, “food.”

With an excited smile, Steve looked on either side of him before getting into the car, a procedure no different than his normal routine. This could have been any car, taking him anywhere, but it wasn’t. It was his car, and it was taking them on a date. The back of his mind was keeping Bucky’s warnings just out of earshot, so he wouldn’t get too caught up in his own head. This was supposed to be fun, freeing, not a political move or act of defiance.

As soon as he had closed the door behind him, they were kissing. Absence makes the heart grow fonder, so they say, but it also makes you yearn for that soft touch once more. “Hungry,” Tony reminded him, during a quick respite to catch their collective breaths, lips barely parted, the perfectly fitting interlock separated by just microns. In his desire, Tony pushed himself forward, and Steve felt the upholstery of the door digging into the centre of his back, but he willfully ignored it in favour of the hand pressed just below his waist, right at the curve of his thigh, tantalizingly close to where he wanted it to be, but that would be weak. He was better than that, wasn’t he? He was above a quick score before the second date. Memories flooded back to remind him that he wasn’t, that there was a long list of times he’d done just that, so maybe it was Tony, then. Tony, for all his attempts to tease, was also the one actively stopping them from getting together right then and there.

Steve’s hand pushed into Tony’s wrist, and it caused him to change his position. The smaller man’s hands instead rested on his shoulders, and Steve curved his back at the touch, rolling his head to the side. Tony’s lips found his neck, making him shudder, letting him nip and bite at his skin. “I know it’s kind of embarrassing to admit, but I missed you,” the man murmured, pushing himself off.

In the sudden stillness, Steve realized just how much he had fallen, slouched on the seat with Tony atop him. He let out a nervous laugh, The car was already moving, another thing he’d neglected to notice, and in a matter of moments they had righted themselves, brushing off their suits, straightening themselves up. “Missed you too,” he answered shortly, running his tongue over his sore lips, tasting the remnants of Tony’s mouth on his. “Have a good week?”

“Hungry,” he reminded, as if somehow Steve had managed to forget. “I’ve got the driver bringing us to my favourite hot dog cart this side of Central Park, and then we’re going to—”

“I’d just be happy with the hot dogs.”

Tony winked at him, barely noticeable in the rather dim cabin. “You’re only saying that because you’re paying tonight. Don’t skimp out on me, Steve.”

The car took a corner too sharply, and he leaned slightly to the side. “I’m not skimping,” he said, glancing over with a smirk. “But if you’re as hungry as you say you are, then is a gastro lounge the best choice?”

“No, see — hot dogs are for eating. Molecular gastronomy is for seeing you squirm over honeydew melon foams. And whipped caviar.” Tony laughed loudly, the sound echoing in the nearly empty back seat. “Rich people are weird.”

Steve’s heart nearly leapt out of his throat when he heard, and felt, the door open at his side. He snapped back to attention, seeing the fresh snowfall in Central Park, not quite picturesque and a winter wonderland, but a light dusting that gave the scenery some colour. Tony slid along the leather-clad seats, ushering him out into the fresh air. The sun was setting, the sky a magnificent pink colour. As Tony slipped from the car behind him, their hands immediately fell together, both ungloved, in an attempt to shield themselves from the cold. There was a brief moment where Steve felt self-conscious, fully aware that people were noticing this. It was hard to ignore two men getting out of a limo together.

It was a stupid thing to feel bad about. This was his life, it was personal. Everything in a campaign was meant to be public, but how did this make him any different than the man he’d been before? He’d been holding hands with men since he was a teenager. This was nothing. This was tame. “It’s just over here,” Tony told him, practically pulling him along the path carved into the fields of decaying grass. “Most people think that all these carts are the same, and then they try this one, and they end up looking like total idiots.”

“You’re really protective over this cart.”

“I just like people knowing the truth about the best places in the city,” he reasoned. “I even have a favourite McDonalds. They don’t have a problem giving me a side of Big Mac sauce for dipping my fries.”

“Has anybody ever told you that you’re crazy?” Steve asked, teeth showing through his smile.

“Maybe. Once or twice.” Tony didn’t seem too terribly ashamed of his quirks. Steve prided himself in being a confident person, but he was nothing compared to him.

The man’s thumb ran along his knuckles, head pressed against his forearm for balance, and in that exact moment, Steve felt entirely complete and happy. They approached the cart, third in line to order, but it was fast moving so they shared the wait in silence. At one point, Steve could have sworn that he heard Tony’s stomach rumbling, and he was definitely getting antsy, weight shifting back and forth between his legs. “We need to get some food in you,” he whispered, fumbling for his wallet using his free hand.

Tony laid a gentle kiss on his sleeve as they pulled apart, approaching the front of the line. “I’ll have… three polish sausages. Spicy,” he said, gesturing to the money in Steve’s hand. “You want anything?”

“It’s my money,” Steve reminded, laughing. “Just a beef hotdog, thanks.” He slipped the twenty to the vendor, stepping to the side to let somebody else order, watching their own food sizzle on the grill behind the glass. “Are you really going to be able to eat three of those?”

With a coy smile, Tony bowed his forehead against the crook of Steve’s arm and torso. “I’ve had more in one sitting.” It was probably better not to ask about that story.

Just under five minutes later, they were handed their small arsenal of sausage. Steve made his with just ketchup and mustard, but watching Tony’s attempts at dressing his dogs was like watching a mad scientist at work. Pickles, onions, something red that looked an awful lot like kimchi but it definitely wasn’t kimchi and he wasn’t about to ask, the whole works. It took an additional five to completely ready himself, and even then Steve ended up having to carry one of the kielbasas back through the park. He was tempted to eat it, but he was satisfied with his own order, instead contenting himself with watching Tony scarf down his dinner.

“You’re going to choke,” he scolded playfully.

Reaching the car, Tony used one of his newly freed hands to open the door for Steve, letting him slide into the cab first, trying to balance the food in his hands and get out of the way at the same time. The window to the front had been rolled down, and Tony asked him to just drive around as they finished eating. The partition rose back up, leaving them alone in the back. Tony leaned over to turn on one of the lights, stealing back his last sausage and taking a small bite, turning over in the seat to keep an eye on Steve, one leg curled beneath his body. “So I actually watched Good Morning New York for the first time in three decades of living in the City. All because I wanted to see how you held it together.”

Steve crinkled his eyes in a smile. “Yeah? How’d I do?”

“Pretty good,” he shot back, tossing the last bit of the sausage into his mouth, having scarfed down the rest of them in short measure. “You seemed out of it though. Like your heart wasn’t dead-set on talking to Cheryl Carrera at eight thirty in the morning. Can’t imagine why that is.”

“I was distracted thinking about a date I had planned,” he said, tilting his head to the side. “It was actually the first time in weeks I wasn’t focused on the campaign.” He licked his lips, nodding stiffly. “It was a nice change, thinking about you.”

With both hands now free to move, Tony pulled himself closer to Steve, their thighs pressing together on the seat. “All I could think about was how nice you looked in your suit.” He reached out, tugging at his collar, hands hungry and grabby, smirking. “Are you still hungry? I’m not hungry anymore.”

“Not really,” he murmured, turning his body closer towards Tony, trying to restrain from touching him, but it was difficult. He was only human, and for months he’d been a human without any sort of contact. This was the closest he’d been to another person since announcing his campaign, maybe even longer, and it was a hard sell to resist Tony, who was so clearly able and willing to be that person for him. “Did you want to go see a movie?”

Licking his lips, Tony leaned the side of his head against Steve’s shoulder, closing his eyes and huddling in for the long haul. “Why pay fifty bucks to go see a movie when I’ve got a TV half as big and Netflix?”

Steve paused, and he struggled to formulate the right response to that. “Are you inviting me back to your place?” he asked quietly, as if it was some terrible secret that he was ashamed to hear admitted.

“Yeah,” Tony murmured, his throaty voice resonating against Steve’s body. “Yeah, I kind of am.” His foot abruptly flailed out, stretching along the empty space before them, kicking blindly in an attempt to find the button that drew down the window. When he finally found it, after a surprisingly well-paced toe jab at an uncomfortable angle, he pulled himself back up, trying not to sound quite so at ease. “Jarvis, take me home.” As he began reaching for the button again, and it started raising up, Steve chirped out a “Thank you,” much to Tony’s amusement. “The thanks is implied. Plus, he gets a big cheque at the end of the week.”

“Never hurts to be polite,” Steve told him softly, his thoughts elsewhere. Not quite as drastic as his daytime television appearance, as they were still floating nearby — thinking about Tony while with Tony — but it was unlocking additional layers to their relationship, their friendship, their whatever it was. He had a good idea of where they stood, but he was no expert at reading situations like these. Steve dealt better in the concrete, rather than the abstract. Until he had verbal confirmation, he was going to live in a fantasy land and attempt to remain there rather than rationalize his own place in reality. He preferred it to his imagination, but he was usually happier in his mind.

In his mind, they were already married, had three children, and he was President of the United States.

It didn’t take long for them to get to Tony’s apartment building. They must have been hovering close to begin with, or traffic must have been non-existent, because one minute they were sharing the relative darkness of the back seat, the next the right door was opening, and Tony was starting to make his grand exit into the parking garage. Steve thanked Jarvis again, an older man with a big tuft of hair atop his head, and allowed himself to be pulled into the elevator. In a matter of moments, they had already reached the top floor — the lift doors opening to reveal the massive penthouse within.

Unlike most apartment space in the city, Tony’s condominium felt larger than it actually was. High ceilings and an open concept made it deceptively long, able to see from the kitchen, through the dining room and living room, all the way to the bedroom, which was partially shielded off, but not entirely. It was so Tony — a bachelor’s apartment on crack. “Like?” he asked, shutting the second door off the elevator, essentially trapping Steve inside of his home, because he wasn’t sure he’d be able to make heads or tails of the button panels.

“Very nice.” He was glancing around, trying to take it all in. The wall colour, the painting hanging up, the arrangement of the furniture. Slipping off his jacket, he gladly handed it to Tony, who hung it in the closet off the entranceway. Their hands slipped in together for the grand tour, which in essence was just pointing in every direction from the centre of the apartment.

Tony seemed almost too excited to be showing it off, like a kid in a candy store he was manic and all too pleased with himself. “Comedy or drama?” he asked, pulling him towards the couch, falling onto it. Steve followed shortly after, amazed by just how comfortable it was, how far he sagged into the cushion.

Their bodies collided together in the dip of the sofa, Tony’s smaller frame pressing against Steve, thereby pressing him into arm of the couch. “Tonight? Comedy.” He shifted his body into a more comfortable position when Tony leaned forward to take the remote off of the ornate coffee table separating them from the gargantuan television. Steve wasn’t exactly lacking in home entertainment pleasures, but all of this made him feel terribly inadequate.

“Good,” he said, falling back in. It was almost a cuddle — almost. It seemed too early to call it a cuddle, this was only their second date as Steve had consistently been reminding himself. He was looking too far into things, he was getting far too invested in this non-relationship. But Tony fit into him perfectly, their arms locked together like a puzzle, their lips had been made for each other’s, it was all too right for him to think it was wrong. “I’ve been wanting to watch that new Meryl Streep movie for months. The one where she plays a Sex Ed teacher to a bunch of nuns? It looks amazing.” He smirked. “I still can’t believe she won an Oscar for it.”

Steve chuckled, his arm wrapping around Tony’s shoulder without the usual hesitation or concern. There was no subtle yawn-and-wrap, no careful creeping along the back of the couch. He just went for it, and it felt natural. Once he’d put the movie on, and somehow dimmed the lights from the couch, Tony sank in against his body, and they remained there for its entire duration.

Well, he could only assume Tony didn’t move. Half an hour into the movie, Steve had dozed off. He awoke in a pitch black, unfamiliar living room several hours later, listening to Tony softly snoring against him, both of them still wearing dress shirts and uncomfortable dress pants, but he was in no desire to wake him, or excuse himself and go home, because it must have been well after midnight.

Instead, he just sat there, not quite able to stretch his legs out to lie down. His head tipped back, comforted by the cushion, forcing his eyes closed in a half-hearted desire to fall back to sleep. Tony’s breaths came in shallow, slow intakes, chest rising and falling against his. One of his hands had curled into Steve’s shirt, holding tightly onto it.

When he finally did fall back asleep, Steve had a smile on his face. And something told him it wasn’t going to fade away any time soon.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter, man. This chapter. Daddy issues out the wazoo. Jimmy Fallon. Drinking Tony. Bad decisions. Recipe for disaster, all of it. Enjoy!

Tony Stark’s smile dissolved almost immediately upon entering the party.

He hated soirees like this — they were stuffy, and tepid, and incredibly boring. Apparently they were important, at least to his father, but he wouldn’t know. Once the drinks had started being served, he usually vanished from the man’s side and spent the evening at the bar, usually talking to himself or anybody who would listen to his rambling.

Tonight was different though.

They parted the crowd together, cutting their way through mobs of people, splitting apart conversations, muttering feigned apologies, and keeping their eyes forward on the prize. Arriving together at the bar, they ordered the same drink (scotch and soda), and both leaned against the wood framing, but it was Howard Stark who spoke, while Tony just wanted the silence.

“I don’t usually want to know who you spend the night with,” he said, pulling the heavy-rimmed glass closer to himself and swirling the drink around, a single ice cube in the drink — another difference between him and his son, Tony would never dilute his drink more with melting ice. “But did you spend it with him?”

“I did,” Tony replied sternly, receiving his drink a second after his father. Both men pushed themselves off of the bar and went to rejoin the party. Unlike their trip toward the wall, their trip back to the centre of attention was riddled with a muttered conversation. “And, before you even ask, no, we didn’t talk politics.”

Howard barked a laugh. “Of course you didn’t. Your thick skull couldn’t keep a conversation about politics if your life depended on it.” He looked over to his son, raising the glass to his lips as he turned to the side to dodge a heavy-set woman about to collide with him. “It does, of course. At least—your future does.”

The smile on Tony’s face was as forced as he could muster it. “I thought you decided back when I was in the fourth grade I didn’t have a future, pops?”

Conversations ceased as they reached the first of their targets. Rather, his father’s target, as Tony was only along for the ride, the free top-rail liquor, and only because he was forced to be there. Howard had spotted him first: an incredibly indiscriminate face, a very commonplace grey hairstyle, and his suit was as generic as Sears could sew, but he was easily one of the most important men at the function that night, and indeed one of the most important men in New York.

Tapping his finger to the side of his nose to indicate to his son that their conversation was far from over, he turned aside, plastering a phoned-in smile on his face. “Very glad you could make it, Mayor Rockwell. Have you met my son, Tony?”

Mayor Nestor Rockwell turned his attention to Tony, smiling at him. Tony couldn’t tell if it was genuine, and frankly he didn’t care too much. Their hands connected in a firm shake, squeezed almost too tight, uncomfortably tight. “Nice to meet you, son.”

His eyes crinkled facetiously. “Hi. Tony Stark, Vice President of Stark Industries, in charge of Research and Development.”

“Howard, you never told me your son was so high up in your company.”

It was only then he realized just how small and weaselly the mayor’s eyes were, they almost matched his father’s. “He doesn’t like mentioning me,” he said, releasing the man’s hand and wiping the sweat discretely onto his trousers. “He’s worried you’ll all like me more than him.”

A quick glance to his father showed annoyed, almost stunned, silence. His lips were pursed, pressed together so tightly that they were blistering white. But as soon as he realized eyes were on him, he forced it into a smile. “Isn’t he clever? In fact, it was Tony’s research team that developed the technology for the new subway cars you purchased.”

From there, the conversation went incredibly in-depth and boring, with Tony gradually cut more and more out of the circle. Rockwell and his father both had incredibly one-note voices that managed to make Tony yawn, but he cleverly hid it behind his hand before either man could notice. Ignoring the conversation was easy, especially knowing what he did about his father — there was no way he’d be welcome back into the fold now, he’d spoiled his chances, and he’d done it incredibly excellently. It had only taken a matter of seconds, a personal best.

Staring blankly at the floor proved to be boring, so instead he pulled his phone from his pocket, immediately pulling up his text window with Steve. They’d both been too busy today to get together, but after spending the night, it seemed like a good idea to take a break. Not that he was sick of him, or even that he wanted to be away from him, but it wasn’t a good idea to move too quickly, considering the circumstance surrounding them.

[still jealous you get to meet jimmy fallon tonight. think you could get me his autograph?]

Steve was an incredibly slow texter, at least compared to him, but he always seemed to make an effort to reply right away. It was nice. It was considerate. [I’ll think about it.]

[think harder]

The smile on his face must have been a dead give-away to whom he was texting, as his father was soon asking a question directly to him. To Tony’s surprise, Mayor Rockwell had excused himself, leaving the two men alone. Well, relatively alone. They were still in the middle of a crowded gala hosted in honour of his father, but they weren’t entertaining guests. “That him?” Howard asked, voice gruff. He took a drink of his scotch, moving closer to his son.

A hand clapped Tony on the shoulder, incredibly hard and stinging. He winced as an immediate reaction, but his brain tried to stop him from any overt change in demeanour because of it. His father liked to exploit his weaknesses like a hound sniffing out a raccoon. “It’s Steve,” he said, insisting on using his name. “Yes.”

It always amazed Tony how the two of them could be related. He knew they looked quite similar, but their faces were so different at closer inspection. Tony’s eyes were narrow, but not small like his father’s. Both noses were long and crooked, and their hair grey in the same unorganized way. But their mouths were so discrete from one another it was alarming. Somehow, Howard had a way of making a smile appear like the most malicious, terrible, twisted thing a man could have. “You know, son,” he said in a low voice, the one usually reserved for scolding and berating. “If you aren’t careful, people are going to start asking questions.”

Tony couldn’t help but roll his eyes. “There’s no questions that need to be asked, dad. Not when you only parade me around when you’re trying to extort information out of me.”

“Extortion is such a loaded word, Tony,” he replied, arm slinging around his son’s shoulder as he led him through the party. “I just want to know what’s he’s up to. I’m your father. This is your livelihood just as much as it is mine. You know as well as I do that if I win this election, I need to step down from the helm of Stark Industries. You help me win this, and the company, the holdings, all of it — it’s yours.”

Narrowing his eyes, Tony took a swallow of his drink, the bitter taste resonating well with his present attitude. “You know as well as I do I deserve it, I don’t see how—”

The hand on his shoulder tightened, almost painfully, as his father turned around. It wasn’t quite a huddle, but both hands wound up holding Tony in place, their heads bowed together. To anybody outside of the situation, it might have looked like a friendly, father-son moment of support. But it was nothing more than a cheap ploy and a threat. “I don’t care how many men you bring to your apartment to fuck, Tony, but I’m not going to stand idly by and allow you to jump in bed with my only competition for this God forsaken congress seat. I deserve it.” Spittle flew from his mouth, face turning red from anger, but immediately upon finishing his rant, the same twisted smile tugged at his lips. “And if you want to choose him over me, you need to consider the fact that he is a public figure, and you’re too smart to be a trophy wife, son. Especially one that is going to be hidden in the shadows once his PR directors realize that flaunting around his boyfriend is the last thing he needs to do to win in this district.” Their eyes locked, and Tony bit down on his lip to stop himself from shouting. “Don’t disappoint me, son. At least no more than you already have.”

Pushing their bodies apart, Howard’s plastered smile turned away from him and began parading its way through the crowd once again. It was all Tony could do not to punch him right then and there. He was good at lying, but nowhere near as good as his father. He couldn’t fake just how angry he was right now. Face beet red, jaw wired shut, he just barely parted his lips to finish the remaining half of his scotch, immediately heading to the bar to order another, this time twice as strong.

The bartender made an advance as he offered the drink, but Tony played dumb and ignored him, turning back to face the crowd that represented everything he hated about politics — and in a way, why he hated Steve. He knew Steve was different, he was unlike any of the plaster-faced councillors, congressmen, and senators he’d wined and dined since his father deemed him eligible enough to tag along with high profile contacts, but Steve wasn’t that different. He’d probably lied for the sake of his campaign, he’s probably lied more. If he won, he’d be no better than any of these people.

Eyes narrowing, he drained back a quarter of the drink, shuddering from the strength. Apparently even when ordering double strong, the bartender thought giving him some extra scotch would somehow make him loosen his trousers. He finished it anyway, taste aside it wasn’t anything he couldn’t handle. Setting the glass on the bar next to him, he tapped two fingers firmly on the bar, all without looking back around. He heard it be dragged away, and the clink of bottles on the rail.

“You should probably slow down there, man,” the bartender said, and Tony felt the chill of the glass on his arm, and a shift in the weight of the air behind him. “Or I’m going to have to cut you off.”

He didn’t bother turning around, thinking for a second that if he just ignored him, then he would go away. He did reach for his drink, lifting it to his lips. “Stop making them so strong,” he finally said, voice airy and aloof. Pushing himself off the bar, he made the decision to brave the crowd, maybe find a table in the corner. He wanted to call Steve, but when he realized just how dependent and clingy that sounded, he shifted gears back to being needlessly annoyed at him. He hated politics. Abhorred them. So why did he like Steve then? This was more trouble than he needed. It was stupid to get involved, stupid to continue on once he knew what he was dealing with, but Tony Stark was the type to stick by his stupid decisions.

Feeling his phone buzz in his pocket, he pulled it out with one hand, balancing the drink in the other. [Going on now. He’s more spritely in person.]

Smirking, he thumbed out a reply without any wait. [autograph. did you want to get a bite to eat after?]

It took him a few seconds to reply, but it was almost instant, at least for Steve. [Thought you had a work dinner tonight?]

[these people depress me. would rather be with you]

When he didn’t get a reply, he figured they’d gone on for the interview. That left him with at least an hour and a half, stranded completely alone, with only a persistent bartender, his father, and his scotch for company. Wrinkling his nose, he decided to hang out with the alcohol, it understood him.

Unfortunately, his drink didn’t have two legs, a big mouth, and a vendetta against his personal happiness. “There has been one person standing firmly by me throughout this entire campaign,” the booming voice of his father rang out, echoing over the speakers dotting the room. As if his voice wasn’t bad enough without stereo sound. “My son, Tony.” It occurred to him that his father had been making a speech this entire time and he’d been rightly ignoring it.

A round of applause smattered out, and Tony begrudgingly joined in, one handed in an attempt to not spill his drink. Never the one to stop a moving train from reaching the station, he continued speaking. “Without him, Stark Industries would not be where it is today, and I would not have the means to be put in this position — blessed with the ability to represent you, the fine people of New York’s twelfth congressional district.” The applause only grew louder, and Tony felt a ball drop in the pit of his stomach. “I would like to thank you, my donors and supporters, for your tireless dedication to my cause. I would like the thank the press, for your tireless dedication to covering this, what is sure to be a historic change in the fair state of ours. But I would most like to thank Tony, for his tireless, unyielding dedication to his family. Because is family not what is most important in our lives?”

The fucker. Sick son of a bitch. No, he didn’t mean that, he loved his grandmother, she was wonderful, but she had given birth to the justifiably worst human being on the face of the planet, who could just smile through his lies, and bribe and threaten his way to office.

Howard stepped off the stage, and had the same idea as his son, they both went straight for the bar. Tony reached first, ordering his fourth scotch of the evening. The bartender seemed to have learned his lesson and didn’t make comments or attempt to be sweet — if anything, he made the drinker weaker than Tony would have liked. Howard arrived just as Tony took his first sip, placing his order, both of his hands gripping tightly to the bar.

“What the hell was that?” Tony said, looking down, keeping his voice even and low.

Laughing, Howard answered without pause. “A reminder of what’s most important in life, Tony. Like it or not, we’re in this together. And I need your help to win this election. You’ve been working for the position of CEO all your adult life, why would you throw it away now? Especially over a boy.”

Taking another drink, Tony swallowed back the boiling blood and bile that threatened to spew out. “I’m not throwing anything away,” he said evenly, speaking through gritted teeth, his jaw aching from being wired so close together. “But I’m not about to let you bully me into anything. I never have. I’m not starting now.”

“Who’s bullying?” Howard asked, interrupting himself to thank the man for the drink, taking a long sip, finishing with an appreciative sigh. “I’m only asking, Tony. For your support. For your help. For your love.”

Tony didn’t speak right away, draining back the last of his drink and slamming it down on the table. The sound clattered the other glasses, and he knew people were watching, and frankly he didn’t much care. “It’s a little too late to ask for my love, pops,” he murmured, turning away, and he didn’t stop walking until he’d stepped through the double doors and gone down the stairs, into the cold February air, digging his hands into his pockets to shield against the weather.

“Well, Tony,” he murmured to himself, letting out a weak sigh. “You sure know how to make an exit.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the words of TV producers everywhere -- make sure you read right to the very end! Won't be around the next couple days, so hopefully this is a reasonable place to stop and make you wait as the holidays progress. Merry Christmas to those who celebrate it, and happy three-days-of-things-being-closed.

Tony woke up the next morning with a harsh, unforgiving, throbbing pain in his head and no feeling south of his waist. There was a brief moment of panic where he thought he might be strapped down in a hospital room, probably paralyzed for life and horribly scarred from some traffic accident. It took his eyes a good while to adjust to the light of his usual bedroom, sunlight pouring in through the window.

He had to pull his blankets over his head, taking comfort in the darkness his sheets provided. Reaching for his phone was a wild stab in the dark, feeling around his nightstand. Nearly spilling a glass of something — he hoped it was water, but common sense made him believe it was vodka — and tipping over his alarm clock, he found his phone, pulling it into his sanctuary. Four phone messages were waiting for him, three from his father, and one last one from Steve.

Wincing, he debated not even listening to them, but it was — oh, god, it was eleven in the morning — late, and he had a job, and it was only a Tuesday, and every terrible situation started playing themselves in his head, as well as memories of the night before, snippets of events that he couldn’t remember happening, but truth be told he couldn’t remember most of the night happening.

Deciding that he wasn’t quite ready to face the consequences of his actions, he set his phone down, allowing it to get lost in the mess of sheets around him. He firmly set his eyes closed, letting out a groan. At least in the dark the headache wasn’t threatening to kill him, instead reduced to a light thrumming in the back of his neck, but he didn’t have any motivation to move because of it. The very thought of breakfast repulsed him to his very core, though he had a strong craving for coffee without any of the materials on-hand to produce it himself. Part of the trouble with being a rich snob meant that he only wanted the best coffee he could afford, the more expensive the better, which meant wasting away his hard-earned money at franchises and independent cafes that charged an arm and a leg to compete with the discount, and thereby crappy, retailers. Days like this, he wished that Sam’s made deliveries, but he had already resigned himself to a morning without coffee, a boycott enacted until he could get his sorry ass out of bed.

The sound he made when he rolled over onto his stomach wasn’t entirely human, somewhere between a whimper of pain and a whine or boredom, slightly muffled by his mouth hanging over the pillow. He knew that the more time he spent laying around, the angrier his father would get with him, but if last night was any indication for the mood he’d be in, it probably wouldn’t make much of a difference just how angry he was — either way, Tony was probably out of a job, soon to be disowned by his family, and with any luck finally going to be left alone.

He allowed himself another ten minutes to adjust to the world of the living, actively trying to remember the entire script of an episode of Friends in an attempt to stay awake, finally pushing himself up from his mattress with a pained sigh. Moving hurt. For the second time that day, he searched for his phone, squinting to avoid looking full-on at the bright screen, and dialling into his voicemail. After wading through all the menus and password entries, he held the thing to his ear and started listening to what had been left for him.

[Message received, 7:31 p.m., February 18th, 2013: “Tony, it’s your father. Where the hell did you go? Call me back. Now.”] That one he remembered getting, and pointedly ignoring. Delete.

[Message received, 9:59 p.m., February 18th, 2013: “It’s ten o’clock, Tony. I swear to God, if you’re dead in a gutter right now, I couldn’t give two shits. If you went and got your ass arrested again, I’m not bailing you out, and—”] He hit delete before letting the message play out, wincing from the tone and the sheer volume of his father’s voice.

[Message received, 7:12 a.m., February 19th, 2013: “Assuming you survived the night, I expect to see you in my office at eight o’clock on the dot. We need to talk.”] There was a stupid smile on his face when he deleted that one. It probably shouldn’t have been so funny to him, being so close to losing his job and probably everything of value in his life, but it was. It was really funny.

There was just one more message left, really the only one he’d wanted to listen to in the first place, but also the one he was most nervous for. He held his breath as he listened to the recording. [Message received, 9:16 a.m., February 19th, 2013: “Hey. I just wanted to make sure you were okay. You sounded—you sounded kind of bad last night, and you wouldn’t tell me if you were at home or not, but, anyway, I hope you get this. Call me when you get this. I’ll probably call again around lunch, just to make sure you’re awake. Alright. Bye.”]

He winced again, this time more out of guilt than from the tone. Closing out of his voicemail system, he checked his call log — according to it, he called Steve a total of seven times between ten and midnight, on four he’d left a voicemail, two he’d managed to get through, and one had gone unanswered. The last one. It gave him some shred of confidence that Steve had at least called back, assuming they’d hung up on bad terms and he’d opted to ignore him, but still, it didn’t bode well. He couldn’t remember any of the conversations, or the messages he’d left, and that worried him just enough to get out of bed and go see his father.

Seeing as he was well on his way to losing everything important to him, he figured it a good idea to start grovelling in hopes of salvaging what he could.

After he stopped to get some coffee. And maybe throw up a couple of times.

Fortunately, Jarvis didn’t seem to act as if anything was amiss, always happy to serve, and always willing to let the car ride to the office pass by in total silence. He needed it on mornings like this, having to mentally prepare himself for the scolding he was getting.

Stark Tower was a massive office building right in the heart of Wall Street, an iconic landmark in the business district. It had also been where Tony was raised, and technically housed a suite for him, but that would mean living three floors down from his father, which was the last place he wanted to be most nights, so he’d made the executive decision to move out as soon as he was able.

Stepping into the office was always a crapshoot — either he would be totally ignored, or the secretary would pound on him like a cat hungry for meat. Today was one of those days. Almost immediately she stood up and rounded her desk, eyes determined, fingers curled around a small stack of papers. “Mister Stark, your father told me to—”

“I know,” he snapped, “I’m late. Just tell me where he is and I’ll go see him now.”

The woman’s voiced went quiet. “Four hours late, but who’s counting?” She handed him a few papers skimmed from the top of the pile, starting to turn away. “He’s either in his office or in the boardroom. He has a meeting at twelve-thirty, so you’d better hurry.”

Rolling his eyes, he turned away, mocking her. “He has a meeting at twelve-thirty, so you’d better hurry.”

“You realize I’m still standing here, don’t you?”

He exhaled sharply through his nose, not bothering to answer. Storming towards the elevator, he attempted to steel his resolve. He’d be listening to his father rant at him for a solid twenty minutes before he’d even be allowed to leave. The lift ride took longer than he would have liked, each additional floor making his stomach sink lower and lower into his body. When the door parted, he stepped out into the hallway, but immediately considered stepping back in, going back to the ground floor, and heading back to back. A voice called out to him though, around the corner and through the office door. “It’s about time, Tony.”

With a sigh, he made his way towards his father, shutting the door behind him, though he didn’t move any further into the room. The two men stared one another down for a second, daring one another to speak first. Tony broke. “Dad.”

“Son.” The word had never sounded so malicious. “You’re late.”

“You should be happy I showed up at all.”

The man pushed his chair back, gesturing widely for his son to approach and take a seat opposite his desk. “Yes, I suppose I should be.” Relenting, Tony took a few tentative steps further into the office. “Long night?”

Placing a hand on the back of the chair, Tony sighed. “I’m not here to make small talk — what do you want?” He glanced up, making eye contact once against, though it was difficult to maintain. “And spare me the lecture. I’m thirty-two.”

There was absolutely no pause in Howard’s speech, as if it had been prepared and rehearsed all morning. “I hope you’re happy about the scene you caused last night,” he said sharply, brow furrowing.

“Don’t blow it out of proportion.”

Tony noticed a blood vessel pulsing in his father’s forehead for the first time in his life. “Do you think you could take something seriously for just once in your life? You made a fool of me in front of several of my supporters, you’ve consistently undermined me and my campaign, and for what? A fuck?” He had to bite down on his tongue to stop himself from lashing out a reply. Instead, he shot his father an insolent look, the kind usually reserved for teenagers and convicts. When he didn’t reply, Howard smiled, believing himself to have won. “Does he even know who you are? What lies have you told him about yourself?”

He closed his eyes, running his thumb over the bridge of his nose. “Are you going to fire me?” he asked, trying to hold back his annoyance.

Howard laughed — not a friendly one, either. “Fire you? Tony, you really shouldn’t have left when you did. You missed the big announcement.”

Freezing, Tony glanced up without moving his head. A thousand scenarios ran through his head, trying not to panic. “What did you do?” he asked, trying to sound convincingly nonplussed.

“I stepped down as head of the company, effective at the end of the week.” It was incredibly how he was able to make even this sound like a direct challenge to his son’s masculinity. “I had every intention of naming you my successor, Tony. But you threw it all back in my face. After everything I’ve done for you.”

His heart stopped, and he felt the sharp sting of something that seemed an awful lot like tears, but he bit them back, swallowing heavily to rid himself of the knot forming in his throat. “I deserve this. I’ve worked non-stop, every day, for the past ten years. Tell me I don’t deserve this.”

“You’re lazy, you’re a drunk, you’re rude and disrespectful, and you’re sleeping with my opponent.”

“I haven’t slept with anyone.” His hand hit the desk harder than he thought it would, managing to surprise even himself. “And I don’t know what the hell difference it makes to you who I spend my time with.”

When Howard exhaled, he looked an awful lot like a bull ready to charge at him. “If you break up with him by the end of the week, then the company’s yours. But I’m not going to be leaving my life’s work in the hands of a son who can’t even bring himself to support his father.”

“The way I see it,” Tony snapped, “you’re not exactly supporting me.”

“End of the week,” Howard said, returning to his calm and collected tone, the one Tony had heard countless times when his father was too angry to yell. “Now please get out of my office.”

He didn’t need to be asked twice. Getting to his feet, he stormed towards the door. “By the way, tell mom I said happy birthday. I’ll call her tonight.”

There was no way the situation could have gone any worse. Shutting the door behind him, Tony went straight to the elevator, pressing the button twelve times in rapid succession, biting down on the inside of his cheek in a desperate bid to keep himself calm, but he knew that wasn’t going to be possible for long. He wanted to lash out, he wanted to scream. And he knew the elevator was the only place he’d have the privacy he needed to have a moment.

Once the door slid open, he stepped inside and immediately reached for the door for the electrical panel, pulling it open and flipping the switch once the doors had shut again. The light went off and he was well and truly alone, staring at himself in the reflective glass backing of the shaft. Letting out a slow burst of air through his nostrils, he let himself slip down against the door, knees pressed against his chest. What he did next wasn’t quite crying — he couldn’t force out tears if he wanted to, but a couple of dry sobs managed to choke out before he completely shut down, sitting alone in the darkness with his headache.

He wasn’t positive just how long he was there before his phone started ringing. Opting to leave it in his pocket for an additional two rings, he finally pulled it out and checked to see who it was. Steve’s name and number was staring back at him, and he struggled to answer it, but he gave up and pressed it to his ear. “Hey,” was all he could say before giving up.

“Tony?”

“Steve, hey.” He cleared his throat, passing it off as a cough.

“Hey,” he replied. “You okay?”

“Yeah.” There was a pause as he tried to let his mind catch up to his mouth before he said something stupid. “What about you? How’s it going?”

He talked about as slow as he texted. “Everything’s fine. I’ve been worried about you. After last night, I just wanted to make sure you were okay. You sounded… pretty drunk.”

Wincing, Tony willed himself to get up. “I’m really sorry about that,” he murmured, trying to sound apologetic — he was sorry, but he had trouble making himself convincing. “Last night was just… awful.”

“You said it,” Steve said, amiable as usual, though Tony noticed he sounded a bit hesitant. Sniffing, he reactivated the elevator and started moving down to the lobby, checking himself out in the mirror in a bid to ensure he looked presentable. “Actually, you said a lot of things last night.”

It could have just been an innocuous comment, but Tony saw through it and couldn’t help but question. “What do you mean? Sorry, I don’t exactly… remember what happened last night.”

Tony could hear Steve breathing on the other end breathing but not speaking, and that worried him more than it should have. “Maybe we should talk about this in person, Tony.”

He didn’t like that sentence. It was just an elongated ‘we need to talk’, and he felt himself spinning again. The door opened on the lobby and he stepped back into the light, making a beeline for the door. “Yeah, sure. Let me know when you’re free.”

“Actually, I’m right outside your—”

“Oh, I’m at work,” Tony said, pushing through the door with his shoulder, eyes on his feet. “But I’m leaving now, I can meet you at my place. Just tell the doorman, he can let you in.”

“Actually, Tony, I’m…”

The line went dead, and Tony scowled. Sticking one hand into his pocket, he balled it into a fist in an attempt to keep it warm. He glanced up and froze. Steve was standing not five feet from him, dressed sharply in a peacoat, still holding his phone next to his ear. He had a smile on his face, but it was a sad one. There was a silence held for a few moments as they looked at each other, and Tony willfully repressed the urge to go hug him, because he knew for a fact that it wouldn’t go over very well.

Steve concluded his thought in a crestfallen voice, keeping his face straight. “I’m already here. Can we talk?”


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We've reached the beginning of the end! It's all downhill from here -- seven more chapters in which to wrap up the story. When I started this, I had the idea of continuing the work and giving it a more finite conclusion, but I still believe the last chapter (#15) is a suitable end. This was written almost a year ago, and as such it's difficult to get back into that headspace.
> 
> However, the response on this has been so lovely that I've begun formulating ideas for a sequel, or a spin-off, or something along those lines. I don't want to give anything away just yet, but it would definitely involve these two in this universe (or a nearly-identical universe), some other Avengers, and a whole lot of politically fuelled fun. I'd also use it to bridge some story gaps between the end of this and the beginning of that -- I don't want to make a guarantee, as some other project may end up consuming my life, but this is something I am hoping to do, so I'll keep you posted!

“I’m upset you didn’t tell me.”

Tony couldn’t remember the last time words had ever cut so deep, and that was including every world-class ass ripping his father had given him over the past three decades combined. Something about Steve’s tone, so simple but so hurt, made his stomach churn, and if he wasn’t at his own apartment just then he might have tried to make a quick escape. His father had always told him real men don’t run from their problems, but his father had also called him a worthless piece of shit a couple days after his college graduation.

The decision to go back to his place hadn’t been an easy one for them to agree on — Steve had insisted on wanting to be somewhere secluded and private, but Tony had wanted to stay somewhere public. His experience with conversations like this one usually entailed a lot of yelling, but most of that usually dissipated when he forced it to happen in a restaurant or a cafe.

He didn’t like that he was making Steve the lowest common denominator, relating him to the people he’d dated in the past, because he knew full well that Steve wasn’t anything like them. Even now, when he had every reason to be angry and disgusted, he was just upset. But Steve being upset was the worth thing that could have happened to him, on today of all days.

“I know,” he said, and he struggled to keep his voice from breaking. “…I know.”

Steve sat down on the couch, the opposite arm from where Tony had placed himself. “So what was all this to you? Just some political move for your father?”

Snapping his head over, he widened his eyes in remorse. “No—god, no, Steve. Please don’t think that. I saw you at Sam’s, and I thought you were incredibly attractive, and I walked over to say hi. I didn’t even know who you were until I googled you when I got to work.” He paused. “And even then, I just planned on creeping you on Facebook, Steve, I swear.”

He could feel the weight on the couch shift in his direction as Steve inched closer. It was meant to be a more subtle movement than it ended up being, but he didn’t shy away from it. His face was still firmly planted forward, unable to turn his head in Tony’s direction, but it gave Tony some comfort anyway. His body shifted to have Steve’s profile, pulling one leg beneath him on the sofa, leaning forward and propping himself up on one of the cushions.

“I’m finding it hard to believe you,” he admitted finally, voice low. “And I hate saying that. Because I like you.”

“I like you too,” he pleaded in response, desperation resonating in his voice, but he didn’t have enough pride to care anymore. At this point, he wasn’t above begging. “Please, Steve. I need you to believe me. Please.”

From the angle he was sitting, he could see Steve’s face tensing, brow knitted in deep concentration. “Your father is the reason I haven’t been able to have a good night’s sleep in months.”

“You seemed to sleep pretty soundly here the other night.” His voice was quiet, and he knew it was a cheap trick, but he wasn’t sure was else he could say.

To his surprise, it actually made Steve crack a smile. “I did, didn’t I?”

It was encouraging, to say the least. Gave him a bit of hope in a hopeless situation. “I actually went out and got you a pair of pyjamas yesterday, before… my dad’s party,” he said softly. “Just in case.”

Steve’s head bowed, and he clapped his hands together over his lap, letting out a weak sigh. “How can I be sure I can trust you?” he asked. The question had a strong sense of finality about it — the only question that mattered, all gravity of the situation balanced carefully upon it.

“Howard Stark told me that if I didn’t… break up with you by the end of the week, he wasn’t going to name me as his replacement as CEO of Stark Industries.” He said it plainly and precisely, trying to make every word count. “And I’m gonna be honest, Steve — I’m not letting you go.”

Tony watched him straighten up, back gone rigid. His hands ran down his thighs, tilting his head back, and exasperated look on his face. Tony wanted nothing more than to comfort him, but forced himself to remain where he was. “I don’t think that’s your call right now,” Steve said.

Swallowing heavily, Tony rose up from the couch, running a hand coarsely through his hair. He could feel Steve’s eyes on his back, and he slowly turned around. “How did you find out?” he asked, wincing slightly, not truly wanting to know the answer.

“You didn’t pick up when I called. Your voicemail says Tony Stark.” He sounded upset still, but his voice was beginning to level off. The worst of it was done, or so Tony hoped. “I thought it was more than just a coincidence. You’re not the only one who can google your dates.”

He smiled as a show of good faith, but Tony wasn’t sure if that was the proper reaction. It was impossible to read Steve, whether he was angry or upset or if he’d decided not to be either anymore. “I wish I’d saved the messages, what I woke up from him today,” he admitted, sitting back down on the couch, taking the risk of placing himself halfway between where he had been and where Steve was. Almost close enough to touch him. “I—I—he’s family, Steve, and when I told you we don’t get along, I meant it. I work for him because I’m damn good at my job, I made that company what it is, and he’s threatening to cut me off from my reward.” There was more desperation in his voice, but he wasn’t even bothering to censor himself from it. “But I don’t care. We’ve been on two dates, and already I know that I’m willing to give that up if it means I get a second chance with you.”

Steve looked over at him with heavy, sinking eyes. For a long while, he didn’t speak, and they sat in total silence. The sky outside of Tony’s apartment was dark from clouds, and it cast the room in an incredibly dull, grey glow. “Tony—” he began, voice cracking.

“Let me finish.” It was the firmest he’d been with Steve, a direct order. “When I look at you, I just know, ok? Tell me you feel it too, right? When you’re with me, don’t you feel like there’s something between us?” Steve made the stiffest of nods. “I like you.” He sounded out of breath now, passioned and determined, but tired at the same time. “And I screwed up, I know that. I lied, and at this point I know that’s the single worst thing I could have ever done to you, but I want you to at least consider forgiving me. Because I’m sorry.”

There was a moment during which Tony was awash with a small sense of relief that he’d said all of that, but the next he was flooded with embarrassment for himself. His face flushed red, and he could feel it stinging as the blood flooded to his cheeks. They’d been on two dates, this wasn’t the sort of thing he should have been saying. Or thinking, for that matter, but he couldn’t control his mind as well as he could control his mouth. Even if he’d been feeling that way, he didn’t need to tell that to Steve.

But he felt a hand on his, squeezing it from above, and he glanced over at Steve, who was looking at him with a straight face. “What do you feel?” he asked, innocuously, barely audible even in the silence of the apartment.

Tony slowly released a breath through his nostrils, relishing in the feeling of his hand being held onto. “Whole,” he responded plainly. “Complete. Happy. Awake.”

“I love you.”

Was it possible for the world to give him one moment of happiness before swallowing him whole? It seemed like the sort of karmic retribution he deserved, a single good thing that happened before he died, and he was sure his heart had just stopped pumping, and his lungs stopped working, and his brain was shutting down. All that remained were his eyes, and they were locked on Steve’s, and that small smile he was making. “Really?” he choked out.

He nodded. “Really. I can’t stop thinking about you.”

Pressing himself forward, Tony connected their lips in a soft, passionate kiss. “I love you too.” The words came out chopped and quickly, in the quick attempts at breathing between closing their lips together. He continued in his forward momentum, pushing Steve into the arm of the couch, one hand firmly affixed to his shoulder, the other on his waist. Their legs tangled together as best they could on a sofa that cramped, letting him press a knee into the cushions and leverage his weight against Steve.

It was Steve’s hands that first grabbed for clothing directly, tugging at Tony’s collar and loosening the topmost button with one hand. Tony could feel the other hand attempting to untuck his shirt from his pants, fingers snaking along the sensitive skin along his stomach. Tony’s breath hitched with his back, curling it outwards at the touch, but Steve didn’t pull it away, continuing to undo the buttons on the pressed shirt until it was hanging completely open. “Can we move to the bed?” Tony asked him, under his breath, laying a soft kiss on Steve’s cheek.

The larger man pushed forward. One hand wrapped around Tony’s waist, the other around his neck, and he pulled them together as he stood up. Obediently, Tony wrapped his legs around Steve, allowing him to carry him to the bedroom. Steve nudged the door open, head tilted to one side as Tony placed gentle kisses along his jaw. Climbing onto the bed, he carefully let Tony down, resting his head on the pillow. WIth surprising grace considering the size of his hands, he spread the man’s shirt apart, revealing his chest, slightly toned and with a smattering of hair leading down to his naval, and then trailing further down into the hem of his trousers. His mouth pressed against one of his pectorals, and his lips began affixing themselves around the nickel-sized nipples, sucking and pulling on the skin.

Tony’s entire body went limp as Steve’s mouth ran along his abdomen, lips brushing against every inch of the torso, trying to uncover every blemish, every inch of skin. His hand scraped along the back of Steve’s head, guiding him further downwards, body convulsing as it reached the ticklish part of his stomach.

Even from that angle, Steve’s hands were pulling at fabric, undoing Tony’s belt and pulling it out from around his waist. He set it down next to them on the bed, trying to keep things neat for Tony, who was trying to reach into his pocket. He pulled his wallet from it, managing to open it with one hand, removing a condom from the money pocket. He tossed the leather aside, leaving the rubber on the bed. “There’s lube in the drawer,” he murmured, allowing Steve to undo the button on his trousers, sliding the zipper down.

He stopped there, though, pushing up against the mattress, arms and legs straddled over Tony’s aching body. “Are we sure about this?” he asked, ever the politician, trying to ensure this was the right move, rather than allowing himself to be swept up in the moment.

“You just told me you loved me after you found out I lied to you about who my father is,” Tony stammered, trying to contain himself after all the excitement, worried it was about to end on him. “I honestly don’t know what I’m sure about anymore. I just know I want to be next to you right now, and if I’m naked doing it, I’m okay with that if you are.”

Steve laid another kiss on Tony’s mouth, but his arms bent as they went limp, and he moved to the side and fell to the bed. “Do you think I said that too early?” he asked, sounding vaguely self-conscious, turning his body to fit against Tony, who was staring up at the ceiling trying to force his body to lose the level of excitement it was feeling.

“Did you mean it?” He could feel Steve’s breath on his shoulder, through the fabric, and he sat up to completely pull his shirt off. He realized he wasn’t about to get lucky, and was trying to not let his disappointment show on his face.

One of Steve’s arms reached out to rest on his chest, curling in the hairs. “I did,” he said quietly, closing his eyes. “Did you?”

“I’ve never meant it more in my life.” He turned himself over so they were facing one another, letting Steve’s hand drop in the gap between them. “Last night, my dad asked for my help with his campaign. He said he wanted my love, too, and I told him he was too late to get that.” He should have sounded more upset by it, but he’d already run the range of emotions enough for one day, and he was quite content with remaining in his present headspace, somewhere between relieved and ecstatic. “I think it might have been because you’d already stolen me away.”

They kissed again, and it felt like another perfect kiss — of course, to Tony, every kiss they’d had had thus far been perfect. Steve pulled himself away, keeping their faces close, brow weakly furrowed. “What are you going to do about your father? Your job?” he asked. “Are you going to tell him we’re… done?”

“No more lying,” Tony responded quickly. “If he wants to pass me up… let him. If he wants to fire me, he can.” His voice went quiet. “It might actually be a good talking point for the next time you have to debate. Ask about his stance on family.” Steve let out something of a laugh, but he was doing it purely for Tony’s benefit, he could tell. “I’m going to be fine. He threatens me in a failed attempt to motivate me.”

“If you’re sure.”

“I am.”

The bedroom fell quiet, and Tony pushed himself even closer to Steve, interlocking their bodies. He didn’t care that it was probably not even two in the afternoon, and that he had a job to be doing, and Steve probably had a campaign to be running, but he liked wasting time like this. Something told him Steve hadn’t had an afternoon off in some time, as he seemed to be settling into the bed perfectly, his eyes closed and his breath slowing down, especially in the silence. “Your pyjamas are over there,” he murmured, “on the dresser. Go change.”

Steve obliged, getting up and going to the bathroom. While he was gone, Tony stripped down into just a pair of briefs, lying back down on the bed. Steve returned a few moments later, decked out in the silk pyjama pants he’d picked out for him, and the undershirt he had worn beneath his dress shirt. As he laid himself out, Tony leaned over to lift up the bottom of the shirt, just to peek — he didn’t feel a shred of guilt for it, either, relishing in Steve’s chuckle. Both of his strong arms wrapped tightly around Tony, and they remained like that for a few moments.

“Steve?” Tony asked after a long silence. He hummed a response, showing he was awake, letting him continue. “If things do go wrong, and he fires me, or he disowns me, do me a favour?”

“What’s that?”

Tony turned his head, kissing his chin, drawing his legs up to curl into Steve’s body, drawing in his warmth. “Kick his ass. I don’t care what you have to do, but I don’t want to see him win this election. You were wrong, back when we met. Howard Stark isn’t a good person, and he definitely isn’t right for New York. You are.”


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so thankful for the response to the last chapter -- even while writing, I kept waffling on whether or not it fit into where I wanted the story to go, but ultimately, it did. I think the next couple chapters, and the issues that arise in them, are much better than a typical betrayal of trust storyline. Happy new year and thanks again!

When Steve awoke, the bedroom was dark. The moon shone in through the window, and the crack beneath the door showed a light on in the hallway, but otherwise it was completely black. He had a brief panic attack when he struggled to remember where he was, as it wasn’t his bedroom nor was it his bed, and he felt hands lightly tucked around him. Tony’s gentle breathing, not quite a snore, sank against the crook of his neck.

Once he realized he hadn’t been kidnapped, he relaxed his body, limbs going soft. Carefully and slowly, he turned onto his back, having been propped on a narrow diagonal against Tony’s body, allowing him to completely assert his weight over him. Tony’s skin brushed against his shirt, stomachs touching slightly as the fabric rode up from a night of tossing and turning. He needed to pee, but that came secondary. First, he wanted to enjoy this moment.

It wasn’t supposed to happen this way. After what had happened the night before, he’d fully believed the whole thing would be broken off. This was political suicide, letting himself be wooed by the son of the opposition, but being with Tony had always been a risk for his campaign, now it was merely more pronounced. Steve hadn’t wanted to believe the worst, but it was impossible not to, given the circumstance. It all played together too perfectly to be coincidence, and he’d spent the morning trying to rationalize his argument. The further he went trying to come up with something, the more difficult it became.

Tony was absolutely impossible to stay mad at.

The man’s hand curled up against his chest, fingernails digging into his skin, and Steve couldn’t help but let out a moan, stifled only by his lips.

If things had gone as planned, Steve would have yelled, but he hadn’t even been able to raise his voice. It had been an entirely subdued affair, layered thick with disappointment and melancholy, rather than the rage he should have been feeling. He’d lied. Not just that, he’d lied about something that could have ruined everything he’d been working towards. It wasn’t Tony he was upset with — it was himself. For allowing himself to be put in a compromising situation in the first place, one that had a scandal headline written before it even broke. He should have been smarter, he should have been safer.

He shouldn’t have fallen as hard as he had.

Just one look at the sheer sadness on Tony’s face when they’d met outside of Stark Tower, and everything dissolved in front of him. He’d wanted to reach out and give him a hug, but scolded himself because of the instinct. It was important they had the conversation, and not let himself push it under the rug. Even if he already knew Tony would be forgiven, he needed to work it out naturally, rather than out of guilt. Because in the end, Tony was in the wrong here, and he needed to know for sure that all of this had meant the same to Tony as it had to him.

Should he have said the three words that had, in his past, ended relationships that had been going on ten times as long? No. That had been a moment of pure weakness, a gap in his thinking that could have ruined everything, but somehow it hadn’t. Somehow he’d picked the one person in New York City that didn’t run in the opposite direction when he said I love you.

Steve Rogers was a lucky man. And in politics, it paid to be lucky.

His change in breathing must have altered Tony’s habits, as his breathing became more acute, far more awake, and he began stirring, though his hands didn’t remove themselves from his body. “What time is it?” he asked, barely understandable, lips dragging along the side of Steve’s chest, his hands loosely curling into the fabric.

“No idea,” he whispered back.

Tony took the initiative to pull himself up from being a crumpled heap and check his clock, just outside of Steve’s field of view. As he lowered back down, he actively chose to lay half his body on Steve, eyes closed already and voice still just as groggy. “S’only eight-thirty.”

“Damn,” he murmured, trying to shift the leverage in their bound bodies, pushing himself up. Tony willingly rolled off and onto his back, groaning. “I was supposed to meet Bucky for dinner. Three hours ago.”

“Sorry.” Tony’s voice caught in his throat, mouth totally dry, and he sat up next to Steve, his hair strewn in every direction physically possible. “My fault.”

Steve turned his head, swooping down to catch Tony’s lips, even though he was positive he was going to taste like morning breath, and Tony didn’t taste much better, but it was nice to be able to kiss him without hesitation. “He’ll understand. He knows I was meeting with you.”

He attempted to continue the kiss, but Tony bowed his head further down, past where Steve could reach without using his hands. “He’s your campaign manager, right?” he questioned softly. “Does he know? About who I am, I mean.”

“I wish it wasn’t his business, but I’m going to have to tell him.” Neither of them moved for a moment, staring at themselves in the darkness. Steve’s eyes glazed over in the din, unable to orient himself in the unfamiliar bedroom. “It’s going to be okay. He’s a good guy. He’s going to be okay with it.”

Their hands found one another, even blind, fingers knitting tightly. “I’m going to kill your campaign,” he said hollowly. “If anybody finds out, it’s—” He shook his head, his hair close enough to brush against Steve’s bare arm. “We should stop this.”

Going quiet, Steve ran his thumb over Tony’s knuckles. “I don’t care.”

“I do.” Clearing his throat, Tony turned over his hand and squeezed Steve’s. He was beginning to adjust better to the darkness, eyes making the distinction between different shapes and lines. “I’m not comfortable being the reason you lose your campaign, especially to him. I like you too much to see that happen.”

Steve glanced over at him, leaning inward. “Six hours ago you told me you loved me,” he said, a hint of humour in his voice, though it was a dark tone, fitting the mood.

“I learned a long time ago that love isn’t enough to stop you from doing selfish things.” He remained quiet momentarily, pursing his lips. “I’m pretty sure the part of me that’s begging me not to say any of this loves you more than it likes you. But you know as much as I do that we shouldn’t be doing this.”

“I don’t want to have this conversation.” Tony finally looked over at Steve, who could make out his face now. Bringing up his free hand, and ran it along the side of his cheek, brushing back a bit of sideburn. “You told me you weren’t going to let me go, and I’m not going to let you. Not because of this. What the voters don’t know can’t hurt them.”

“They’re going to find out.” Tony swallowed heavily, exhaling harshly through his nostrils, chest falling heavily. “It’s all my fault — I shouldn’t have ever told him about you, he’s going to use this, use me, against you.”

A firm hand pressed against Tony’s shoulder, squeezing in an attempt to steady him. “Calm down. Please, Tony. Just breathe.” He licked his lips, staring intently down at him “I’m not… breaking up with you. I’m not letting you break up with me. I like you too much to let that happen. Your father, he’s just trying to manipulate you into hurting my campaign by hurting me. Please don’t let him get to you.”

Tony fell forward, digging his face against Steve’s chest, who was there to comfort him, rounding his arms around the man’s shoulders. “I have no idea what I’m doing.”

He pressed his lips into the mess of hair atop Tony’s head, curling his fingers around the back of his neck. “It’s going to be okay. I promise you. Just let me go and speak with Bucky. He’ll know what to do.” Tony turned his face upward, kissing Steve once more, lingering before pulling their lips apart. “I just need you to trust me.”

“I trust you.”

Placing a poignant kiss on Tony’s lips, Steve bowed their foreheads together, eyelashes nearly touching. “Good,” he whispered, hand against his cheek. All he wanted to do fall back to sleep with Tony in his arms, but he knew that Bucky was going to be upset that once again he’d bailed on their dinner date — and now he’d come baring the gift of bad campaign news. It was putting a strain on their friendship, but he knew it was strong enough to survive whatever thrown at it. They’d been through more difficult trials in the past, and would be through worse in the future, he just missed Bucky. His life had been more or less usurped by the campaign, and more recently by thoughts of Tony, and he’d been looking forward for the opportunity to just talk.

Excusing himself, Steve grabbed his phone from the side table and stepped into the lit hallway, scrounging around to find the bathroom again. Washing his hands and face, he dialled Bucky’s number after drying off, but he only caught the answering machine. “Bucky. Hi. I’m so, so, so sorry — please tell me you still want to meet up tonight, because I miss you, man. Call me when you get this.”

Replacing the phone in his pocket, he returned to Tony’s bedroom, leaving the door open a crack but the lights off, just in case he was going to fall asleep again. “He’s not picking up,” he said quietly, crawling onto the bed. “So I have some time to kill. Maybe all night. Do you mind?”

“No. Not at all.”

Steve crawled over him, letting his body sink down against Tony’s bare chest. “Good. Because I was hoping to get to know you better,” he murmured, whispering almost directly into his ear. “What do you think, want to play twenty questions?”

Despite being the smaller of the two, Tony managed to use his leverage to turn them over, positioning himself atop Steve, who had a half smile on his face, wrapping his arms around Tony’s body, one of his hands set against the small of his back. “Only if I like the questions,” he teased, his mouth hanging open, ready to be kissed again.

Happy to please him, Steve’s mouth closed around Tony’s bottom lip, teeth nipping against the pink, soft skin. “Why wouldn’t you like the questions?” he queried, and their tongues found one another, starting a salty sword fight. Tony’s hands rose and fell with Steve’s chest as he breathed, slowly and deliberately, trying not to push the situation further than where they were already. “How do you like your eggs in the morning?”

“Scrambled in bacon grease.” The simple answer betrayed how their hands were moving — touching, squeezing, feeling one another all over. It almost made the question seem like the normal one. “Boxers or briefs?” Tony asked in response, closing his eyes as one of Steve’s powerful hands cupped his ass, only a thin layer of fabric dividing them from being able to touch the flesh beneath.

It took him a moment to think of an answer, distracted by the weak pinch made on his areola. “Briefs,” he said, stifling a moan. Tony leaped at the opportunity, hungrily gnawing through the thin white tee he had on, leaving a small stain of saliva on the shirt. “Favourite band?”

Tony smirked. “Sex Pistols,” he said plainly, lips pressed against Steve’s core, barely audible as he muffled himself in the shirt. “Top or bottom?”

Steve’s eyes flickered down at the head against his chest, smirking and chuckling in a sharp burst of breath. “That’s a forward question, don’t you think?”

“I don’t mind being forward,” he said, looking up and smiling coyly. “Besides, it never hurts to know. Because one of these days, we’re going to get past second base.”

The response elicited a laugh from Steve, who drew his hand from below Tony’s waist and settled it just above his hip, in the curve of his side, curling his fingers into the elastic of his briefs. “Just be patient. There’s a lot going on, right? I don’t want to jump into things. I prefer this, anyway.” His voice lowered, little more than a whisper. “The wait.”

“You haven’t answered my question.”

Kissing him, Steve gave his answer with his lips pressed against Tony’s speaking right into his mouth. “I haven’t decided on my answer yet.” Something about the answer seemed to spark excitement in Tony, as he bucked his hips into Steve’s thighs, pressing himself hard against him, but Steve’s resolve was more solid than his desire, and he carried their game forward. “Why did your last relationship end?” He asked it softly, placing both hands on Tony’s waist, holding him steady.

“He cheated,” Tony said after a moment. “And I cheated. Both of us. We just… we fell out of it, and neither of us had the guts to break it off. By the end, we both knew and just didn’t care, and eventually, we just stopped seeing each other.” Steve’s narrowed his eyes, but didn’t want to look judgemental. “My turn?” Tony asked him. He made a slight nod, a weak smile tugging on his lips. There was a long pause before he could speak again. “Why are you still here? Knowing I’ve already lied, and that you probably can’t expect much better of me than that?”

Before, it had just been a small smile, but at the prompt, it grew larger, warmer, more comforting. His arms snugly wrapped around his waist, not letting him pull away. “You’re more than that. The way I see it, either you’re a good person — or, if you’re lying to me still, or if there’s more to you that you’re still keeping from me, after all this… then you’re a sociopath. And honestly?” Kissing him, Steve let out the most genuine smile he’d ever made in his life. “I’m willing to take that chance with you.” His eyes flicked between the ceiling, the wall, and Tony’s face. “Is that a banana in your pants or are you just happy to see me?”

“You’re not funny,” Tony teased, pulling himself further up Steve’s body. “You’re lucky you’re good looking.” They went quiet, still trying to alleviate the tension of the earlier questions, wanting to get a fresh start and keep the tone light. “Have you ever tried to get with a politician?”

“Once,” Steve said with a smirk. “Joe Biden.”

“Damn.”

“You don’t even compare.”

“I know.”

“He was pretty happy with his wife, though.”

Tony grinned. “I don’t understand how anybody could say no to you.”

“I never said he said no.”

They looked at one another and burst into a fit of soft laughter. Tony rolled himself finally off of Steve, their stomachs slick with sweat from the warmth shared between then. It was Steve’s turn for another question, and he mulled it over a good minute before speaking. “We’re official, right?”

“Official?” Tony questioned, turning his head over with a quirked brow. “Do you live in the fifties or something? I don’t want your leather jacket. Yeah, we’re official. I haven’t been able to even look at anybody else since I met you, so, yeah. We’re going steady. You can take me to homecoming, and maybe, if you’re lucky, I’ll let you feel me up in your car.”

Steve turned onto his side, placing the palm of his hand on Tony’s stomach, fingers running through the thin, short hairs of his treasure trail. “Who says I need to do it in my car?” he questioned, slowly dragging it down, edging over the waist of his briefs. Tony tensed up as it drew closer to the bulge pressing against the tight confines of the fabric.

The tease was cut short by the startlingly loud vibration of Steve’s phone on the nightstand next to them. It made both of their their hearts stop in their chests, remaining perfectly frozen before they realized where the noise was coming from. Steve removed his hand, reaching over him to grab the phone, pulling away quickly as he lifted it to his ear. “Hey—Bucky, listen, I’m sorry. I had a problem I needed to take care of and things…” He looked over at Tony. “Things got a bit carried away.”

“Yeah, whatever, I’m used to it.” His voice sounded more rushed than annoyed — that was part of why they got along so well. “You told me he’s worth it, and you’d better not be wrong about it, or else I’m gonna get angry.”

“He is, I promise.” Their eyes locked, and Steve offered Tony a small smile. “About that, though — do you think we could meet up tomorrow? I need to talk to you about a few things.”

“Of course, man. Anything you need. I’m going to need you in early tomorrow, though, you’ve got a spot on Kelly Ripa. We can talk after.”

“Her?” Steve chuckled weakly. “Alright. Sure. Sounds good. Sorry again. I’m going to make it up to you, promise.”

“Just win this damn election so I can go back to a regular sleep pattern without having to down a bottle of wine to get drowsy.”

“I’ll see what I can do about that. Night, Bucky.”

“James. And night.”

Hanging up, Steve made a point of turning off his phone and moving in closer to Tony, laying a quick kiss on his lips as they both laid back down together. “Okay, I’m yours for the night,” he said softly. “I don’t know about you, but I’m kind of hungry.”

“I’m always hungry,” Tony reminded him, returning the kiss. “And, for the record, you still haven’t answered my question.”


End file.
